Page 117 of All Our Nevers

I jolt in my seat. “What?”

“He’s on the roof deck. Waiting for you. He wanted to be nearby in case you wanted to see him, and I told him I wasn’t going to play whatever weird game this is between you guys but—”

I don’t wait for Andy to finish his sentence.

I’m out the door, bolting for the stairwell, Doc Martens pounding faster than my heart. Two flights then a grey metal door that I haul open with all my strength. The darkened sky and the late-summer wind.

And he’s there.

29

Lia

Owen is slumped against the railing, looking out across the dark city, a shell of his typical confident posture. He wasn’t expecting me, at least not yet, but the snap of the door has him spinning around, emotions washing down his face. Hopeful and wrecked, surprised and dazed, terrified and determined as he breathes my name.

“Lia.”

Always polished, always overdressed—but today a bit undone. His shirt is untucked, hair ruffled, bags under his eyes. There are twenty feet between us. The black sky overhead and the string lights around the edges and a warm breeze that’s picking up, twisting in the edges of my skirt, spinning the curls of my hair, compelling me forward.

“You’re here,” I say, because where else can I start?

He nods. Swallows. “I’m here.” The yellow light from the door behind me streaks across his face, cracking it in two. His desperate eyes catch mine, brave heart on the line as he asks, “Is that okay?”

And it is okay. It’s so, so okay.

But it’s also not, because I’m still confused and overwhelmed and this feels so much bigger than anything I can grasp in my fist.

I start with a nod.

“I’m so sorry, Lia,” he says. “I’m sorry about our fight, about the letter, all of it.”

I should accept his apology. I should apologize myself, then promise to be better, calmer. To mold myself into something soft and palatable for him. That’s the only kind of love I’ve seen succeed. It’s what Connor expected, it’s perfect for Sophie and Andy, it’s even what I saw with my parents—but it’s not me.

From across the rooftop, I say, “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have said… shouldn’t have made them think—” It’s coming out all wrong so I try again. “I know you would never hurt me. I’m so sorry for what I did, but Owen I’m so tired, and I get so angry sometimes and I… I don’t know how to be any different. I don’t know how to change the way I am.”

He says, “I don’t need you to change, Lia. I fell for you exactly the way you are. I want all of it, the soft and the hard, all your tenderest parts and all your ruthless ones too. I would much rather fight with you than have peace with anyone else.”

The clouds shift overhead, blocking out the stars. The air is wet fingers on a live wire—sparking and dangerous.

“But also,” he says, “if you think you’re incapable of it, you’re dead wrong. Look at you. Look at everything you’ve done this summer. The way you’ve chased your dreams, and changed your goals, and opened up about the things that hurt you. You’re doing it, gorgeous. You always strive to be better, and that’s a kind of change.”

“I’m still scared,” I whisper, too low for him to hear across the rooftop.

But he must read my lips in the glow of the string lights, because he says, “I know.”

The loose fabric of my sweater twists in the wind, slapping against my arms, tangling me in it. “This was supposed to be casual. We said that from the beginning and—”

Owen steps closer, cutting me off. “It’s never been casual to me. Not for a moment.”

His eyes are warmed in the low light, blue shifting to green as his pupils dart between mine, reading me so well. Better than anyone else ever could. Pressure builds as the clouds grow thicker. No rain yet but thunder—a roll of it in the distance.

“You mean more to me than anything,” he says, “and it’s terrifying, because I’ve always fallen short for the people I care about. There’s never been a time in my life when I’ve been good enough. I’m broken, and you deserve the very best things in this world. You demand them.”

“Owen…”

“Wait. Let me say this.”

The wind picks up. A storm is brewing, almost here. The ribbon in my hair is torn free, a slash of white across the sky. My hair blows sideways, tangling in front of my eyes until I push it aside and I’ve never felt like this before—like my heart outside of my body, ten feet away, exactly where he stands.