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“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to say anything back. I haven’t earned it.”
And it’s then, in that acknowledgment, in that reverent kind of acceptance—that I owe him nothing. That he has a lot of mending to do, both within himself and with us. With everyone—that the broken parts of me don’t feel so opposite, so polarizing, to the broken parts of him. That maybe instead of jutting, crooked points jamming together, they actually fit and fasten into place, somehow. Our demons know how to dance.
He looks at me again, awareness gathering in his eyes. “That’s my ugly, I guess,” he half-jokes. “I never could apologize before.”
I want to ask him why he thinks that is, but I don’t have to wait long for him to supply it anyway. “Because my dad always apologized to my mom, but then he’d just keep cheating and hurting her.”
Oh…
My heart breaks at the thought. Not for Magnolia, so much, but for Jake. For him to witness that as a child and see how that’s affected him. One of the many things that’s affected him…
“I guess I just felt like the word was empty. But I still want you to know it. I’d like the chance to show you.”
The breath leaves my lungs.
That insinuates he’s hoping for more. Some kind of future. A tomorrow. An after.
“I’m also sorry for something else.” Humor flickers briefly behind his eyes.
A dramatic pause.
“I should have never compared us to the dragon queen and Jon Snow.”
I playfully roll my eyes, and I’m not sure if it’s to the bad analogy or him being Jake and not being able to resist sneaking some humor into the moment. “That was bad,” I agree.
“I should have used Ygritte and Jon.”
I’m taken aback. “Did you…?”
He shrugs. “I’ve had more time lately.”
I just look at him. Impressed. My mind still reeling. Of all the ways he could be spending his time, he used some of it to throw himself into something he knew I liked.
“But I mean it. I’d like the chance to show you.”
He wants to make me his Ygritte.
“Jake, I…”
My words get caught in my throat. My heart is tilting toward yes. But my head…
When I don’t immediately reply, he nods, some secret acceptance of our fate playing out in his head, and when something breaks in his eyes and he looks away, I can’t stand it.
The right time, or not. Too soon, or not. Completely healed and ready, or not. Continuing to push against what’s so natural to us, these two comets who know nothing but colliding and erupting, feels wrong.
I touch his cheek so he’ll look at me again. It takes me a moment and a hell of a lot of courage to say it. Because I’m also admitting it to myself. “I’d like to kiss you again…if that’s okay.”
His mouth quirks, sending my heart into spasms. I’ve missed these eyes and those dimples. And I revel in the moment before we collide again.
I just hope this time it doesn’t end with both of us getting third-degree burns.
“Of course,” he replies, almost breathes, like my admission was the soothing balm his healing soul needed. And his hand snakes around my neck. Grabs me tenderly at the nape.
My body ignites in response.
“It’s always been your call.”
