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We sat, motionless—the only sound in the room our breathing and the ticking of the clock. I could feel his chest rising and falling.
“Oh no, Emerson.” Michael sat up straight. His skin went pale underneath his olive coloring. “I’m such an idiot … Liam … if anyone ever had the right to change something in the past, it’s you.”
“Stop.” I shook my head.
“We could try to find a way …”
“Is there?” My voice broke. “Is there a way?”
“I don’t … I don’t know.” I could tell by his eyes that he did know. He knew it was impossible.
I swallowed hard, biting the inside of my cheek, willing the tears not to fall. “If you changed that path it would change others, too. Paradoxes can’t happen, right? Besides, there were funerals.”
Bodies.
I tried to make my tone light and failed miserably. “Unless there’s some other theory up your sleeve?”
“No.” His thumb brushed a lone tear from my cheek. The care behind the gesture almost did me in. “I wish it could be different. I wish I could change things.”
“I told you because I wanted to, not because I want you to help me change anything.” I gave him a small smile. “Besides, I can take care of myself. Been doing it for years.”
“Emerson, you just shared your deepest secret with me. I value that. Don’t make light of it.”
If he wasn’t already holding my heart in the palm of his hand, I would have taken it out and given it to him right then.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath.
I wished things could be different, too.
Chapter 25
I awoke to the sun fighting its way through the slats of the horizontal wooden blinds covering the windows, close to claiming victory. The room held enough light to tell me we missed our early start back to Ivy Springs.
Too bad.
I’d spent the night in Michael’s bed. I wiggled my toes, grateful he’d at least removed my shoes before tucking me in—still fully clothed—before he returned downstairs to sleep on the couch. The boy had propriety on lock. I inhaled deeply, noting his pillow smelled as good as he did. I resisted the urge to bury my face in it.
As my eyes adjusted I took in my surroundings. Definitely not as posh as the loft, more college boy, but neat-and-tidy college boy. A blue-and-green watchman-plaid comforter coordinated with navy walls. His desk held a silver gooseneck lamp in addition to a sleek laptop like the one in his loft. An acoustic guitar displayed on a stand in the corner sat beside a well-stocked bookshelf. The whole combination felt very … Michael.
I gave in to my urges, turning my face to the side and deeply inhaling the scent of his pillow. A soft knock sounded on the door. Growing warm with embarrassment, I fanned myself for a second before I called out, “Come in.”
Michael cracked opened the door, grinning. “Hey.”
Waking up to his face felt extremely personal. Maybe it was because last night I opened up to someone besides a family member for the first time in four years. Or maybe it was just because it was him.
Or it could be the pillow thing.
“Shower’s through that door. Towels are under the sink. I’m going to check out the breakfast situation.” He dropped my bag inside the door and left before I could say anything.
I showered and dressed quickly, glad I always carried a travel toothbrush and makeup essentials in my purse. I returned to his room to find Michael sitting on the bed, holding two mugs of coffee. He scanned my all-black ensemble.
“Did you go emo and I missed it?” he asked, grin still in place.
I smoothed my hand over my shirt and said primly, “I didn’t know what the Hourglass was going to be like. I brought these clothes in case I needed to blend in with the dark.”
“You look like a miniature burglar.”
“Don’t forget I can kick your ass.”
