Page 154 of Heartbeat

“Okay.” He nodded slowly.

I took a few long breaths, an attempt to speak without shaking or stuttering as much. “I love you, Ethan,” I said, smiling awkwardly for some reason.

He looked at me, sort of startled, which was so fucking cute.

“I know I’m a mess,” I continued, wishing for nothing more than to have the moment filled with words instead of silence. “And I kn-know that sometimes it s-seems like I’m not sure of much, but I am—I’m s-so sure of you, baby. And you don’t need to say any—”

“I love you too,” he blurted out, and I was suddenly not cold anymore.

“Yeah?” I grinned.

“So much,” he said, sounding amazed. “I never loved anyone before, so I don’t know if I’m doing it right. If you can feel it—”

“I feel it,” I assured him, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. “Can you?”

“I can.” He nodded, pressing his hands tighter around my waist and giving me a kiss.

“I was so scared to come back here,” I confessed, quietly. “I was afraid I’d only see flashes from that night, no matter where I looked.”

“Do you?”

Not without some effort, I took my eyes off him and turned my head to the side, staring at the water for a few seconds before speaking.

“It’s still there,” I admitted softly. “But not just that. There’s…more.”

“More?”

“I learned to swim here.” I could almost see Liam and I running to the water, laughing before jumping in. “That tree over there, by the house? That’s where I fell and broke my collarbone when I was four. It’s why we never had a tree house—’cause I was always getting hurt.”

He leaned in and kissed the base of my neck.

“We’d camp out almost every night too,” I continued. “When it got too cold, we’d set up the tent inside, next to the fireplace and spend the whole night awake, talking.” I was transported back in time. “Liam loved telling me ghost stories that always made me have nightmares for weeks after.”

He snuggled closer.

“As we got older, we stopped setting up the tent, but we’d still spend our nights by the fire. It’s where he told me about Emma and him leaving; where I told him I thought I was bi, and he told me how glad he was I’d finally figured it out.”

Ethan kept watching me with a kindness I had for so long been amazed by but also scared me in a way nothing else ever could. I used to fear that the way he looked at me was undeserved. All right, I still did, sometimes. But I’d figured out what to do about it, and I could say it’d actually helped.

I tried to earn it. I was getting better at it too.

“Good memories,” I said, looking at him. “Like this. I want more of this.”

“Well, that I can guarantee, babe,” he said warmly.

I leaned forward slowly, as though it was our first kiss, letting the tip of our noses touch before tilting my head and pressing my lips on his. Then, I lost track of time, mainly because my Super 8 was kept turned off for the remainder of our time there.

We started going to the lake a lot, after that. Sometimes, when Ethan was asleep, I’d go outside and watch the water for the longest time. I’d replay the night I lost Liam in my head with a clarity that seemed capable of having it all manifest itself in front of my eyes.

But I didn’t let it.

I thought about what it would be like, having Liam with me still, what he’d have thought of me, of this version of myself I was constantly working on. There was so much I wanted him to know, so much I wanted to tell him about and to have him share. I was now the same age as him when he died, and to imagine being older than my big brother was the oddest thought to entertain.

I still got sad; I didn’t think the pain would ever go away. That was okay though. It would be worse not to miss him. I also didn’t think my brain would ever work the way I wanted it to. I’d probably always need some sort of help whenever things got a little too heartbreaking. That was okay too.

When it got too bad, I’d just try to think of all the good that had happened since, and I guessed I was lucky because there were a few memories I could pick and choose from. If that didn’t work, I’d focus on Ethan—it usually made it easier for me to breathe again.

Sometimes I feared I wouldn’t always be this lucky. That I might not have him for as long as I wanted. But the thing was, it didn’t matter if we got a year, five, or twenty—it would never be enough, and it would always seem like minutes. So I would try to take in every single one of our minutes. And hoped they’d multiply.