I nod you better.
"I love you."
"You love me?"
"Yeah. I love you so much it scares me. It did scare me. Thinking of the way you brighten every fucking room you're in. And the way you smile. And that perfect energy that radiates from your eyes. And thinking of being the reason why it faded… But it's not just that. I was scared of everything else. Losing you. Falling harder. Getting hurt."
I swallow hard.
"It's hard for me. Feeling everything. Seeing in color. I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I can be the guy you need. I've never done that before. But I know I love you. And I want to make you happy. And I'll try my fucking hardest, every fucking day, to make that happen. To be the guy you need."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says. "But I'm not there yet." He swallows hard. "I'm not drinking and I'm trying hard, but I'm still an alcoholic fuckup."
"Oliver—"
"Don't argue, angel. You spent the night crying because of me."
The pet name makes my heart thud. My body doesn't care about hurt or betrayal or any silly practicalities. Only about his strong arms and his soft skin and his gorgeous eyes.
That feeling when he holds me.
The taste of his lips.
But this is important. And he's right.
He's trying, but he's not there yet. He might never be there.
I nod okay.
He continues, "I'd love to tell you I'm past that. That I'm healed. But I'm not. I'm still fighting. I'm going to be fighting for a while. And I'm going to fuck up again. And get scared and run off again. And you're going to have to wait."
"Okay."
"I want to be everything you need, Luna. I want to be the guy who deserves you. I'm not there yet. And I'm going to work to get there every day, but I can't promise I will. I can't promise I'll stay sober. Only that I'll try."
"Really hard?"
"Yeah."
"You're sure that you'll try really fucking hard?"
He nods.
"I love you too." I don't give him the chance to respond. I kiss him like the ship is going down.
Epilogue
Luna
Who needs peppermint cake when single-origin Kenyan beans are an option?
Dark, rich, bitter perfection.
Ruined by cream and sugar. Or almond milk and honey. Or the way too sweet cake.
Sure, it's Christmas. And the four of us are here for a new tradition: post dinner chocolate and coffee.
Yes, peppermint is really festive.
But so is the raw tiramisu I made. And no one is touching that.
I expect this from Holden and Daisy, but Oliver?
"You'd like this better." I dig my fork into my slice. Bring a bite to my lips. Let the flavor dissolve on my tongue. Chocolate and coffee. Truly the greatest tastes in the world.
"I'd rather watch you groan over it," he says.
Holden makes an ick sound. "And I'm the one who needs new material?"
Daisy nods kind of. "That's what it's like when it's new."
"And you'd know? Now that you've been together for four entire months?" Oliver challenges.
"Beats six weeks." Holden chuckles.
"Seven weeks," Oliver says.
Holden presses his hand to his chest. "They're still counting weeks."
"And you aren't?" Oliver asks. "You think I don't see you doodling in your notebook?"
"Drawing naked pictures of my girlfriend? Of course," Holden says.
Oliver shakes his head no. "Mock-ups of couple's tattoos. And hearts with her name. Or Daisy and Holden Forever."
For a second, Holden blushes. Then he jumps back to troublemaker. "That's a cover. So you don't realize I'm drawing her naked. I don't want to disturb you."
"You don't want to rile someone?" Oliver asks. "That's your story."
"Yeah. Of course," he says.
"Really?" Daisy asks.
"Of course." He picks up her hand. Places a kiss on the inside of her wrist. "I want to make you in every way." He draws a line over her forearm. Which once again bears a temporary version of the tattoo she wants.
I struggle and I emerge.
Only in Latin.
Everything sounds better in Latin.
"You really draw hearts with my name on them?" she asks.
"Fuck, now he doesn't know what to do," Oliver says. "Play up the bullshit. Or admit he loves her more than anything."
"I love you more than anything." Holden leans in to press his lips to Daisy's. "And I love fucking you more than anything."
She smiles, charmed.
In love.
Blah, blah, blah. It's not that cute the ten millionth time.
Don't get me wrong. I love hanging out with my best friend. Even with her and her boyfriend. Or as a foursome.
It's our new unit. The best friend double date slash double date.
This perfect mix of friendship and family and love.
But, seriously, I don't need to see them make out anymore.
Really.
Never again.
He teases her. She giggles. Whispers back.
They smile at a shared joke. Or maybe a secret. I'm not sure anymore.
It's their own private world. I'm not in it.
A part of me aches. A part of me misses the way things used to be. But most of me—