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Miles places it gently on the table before turning to face me, stricken. Pale face, shaking hands. I don’t dare say anything, waiting for him to speak.
“Barrett.” There’s none of that confusion in his tone anymore. Only a familiar warmth wrapped around my name. “Did it—did it work?”
I let out what feels like my first full breath since I saw him in the quad yesterday. “Yes,” I say, and then he squeezes his eyes shut and collapses against the table.
Chapter 42
“I NEED TO SIT DOWN.” A wobbly Miles attempts to maneuver himself into a chair, and I rush forward and help pour him into one. “I’m… feeling a little light-headed.”
“Hey. It’s okay. I’m here,” I say, my sudden rush of relief now threaded with panic. He’s back. Kind of. “Whatever you need—I’m here.”
He nods, folding his arms together and pressing his head against them, taking deep breaths while I contemplate how to best help him. I dig into my backpack for a water bottle, place it on the table between us, and then give him my hand, just so it’s there in case he needs it.
My heart settles into a calm, constant rhythm as he weaves his fingers with mine and holds on tight.
“It’s a good kind of light-headed,” he assures me. “Almost like… like I’m experiencing all of it for the first time.”
Oh. Holy shit. I’m shocked he’s still conscious—it must be what I was experiencing after my flash multiplied by a thousand.
Of course, the two of us arguing was what snapped him back.
I slide into the chair next to him and inch it closer, as though I can relive everything playing behind his eyelids.
“I’m right here,” I tell him again.
He lifts his head, dark eyes shimmering. “Is it happening to you, too?” he whispers.
“It already did.”
And I just sit with him while the memories flood back, listening to his even breaths, the way he cringes or smiles or brings another hand to the table to steady himself. It must be emotional for him, getting all of this at once. I’m not sure how long it takes—ten minutes, two hours. I can’t see what’s rushing through his head and lighting up his memories, but just being here, somehow I can feel it. The way our ball pit opened up for us. The overly sweet scent of the ice-cream truck, and the makeshift Shabbat that made me scared of how much I was starting to care for him. Our trips to Canada and Oregon and everything in between, the trips that required only two flights of stairs between his floor and mine yet felt sometimes like two entire galaxies.
Now his face is flushed.
“Long Beach?” I ask, and he nods, bending to touch his forehead to mine.
“And—and the day after.” A sly smile. A squeeze of my hand.
Finally, it all seems to stop. His eyes flutter open, and he spies my water bottle and takes a long sip.
“Oh my god,” he says with a horrified-sounding groan, and there’s something about it that makes me certain this is the Miles I know and love. “This morning, and yesterday—I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you.”
“Fortunately, I was used to it.”
A slight smirk as he nudges me. “Still. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” I say. “But only because you’re so cute.”
We’re still holding hands. He makes a move to bring mine closer toward him, as though asking if it’s okay to hug me. “Can I…?” he says quietly, and because I can’t shout I might die if you don’t inside a library, I simply nod.
He pulls me to his chest, my cheek against his heartbeat, and I inhale the scent that’s uniquely him. Over and over, I breathe him in. He’s never felt more fantastic than he does in this moment, and I feel my entire body relax against his as he slides a hand into my hair. His fingertips are gentle, working their way through my tangles, his chin resting on top of my head. Jesus Christ, this boy. How a hug from him can turn me to putty every time, I’ll never know.
“This is ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head.
“In a good way?”
“The best,” he says, and then I tilt my head up to kiss him.
I intend for it to be a chaste little library peck, but Miles’s mouth opens against mine, eager and wanting—and fuck it, I’m powerless. I wouldn’t want to be anything else. I fist my hands in his hair while he gets to his feet, pushing me against the table, his hands on either side of my hips. I kiss him harder, tug him closer, until he’s laughing because “I never thought I could be this turned on in a library,” he says.
