I follow him into the cool, sweet evening air, settling into a wicker chair with a cushion so soft it cradles my bottom like a lover’s hands.
Like Jesse’s hands.
If he weren’t looking at me like he’s afraid I’m about shatter into a million pieces, I would make a joke about it.
But nothing is funny right now. And I can’t handle another second of waiting for the hammer to fall.
“Please, just . . . tell me,” I say, my voice wobbly. “I hate suspense.”
He pulls in a deep breath. “Yeah, me too, I just . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to start.”
“Start at the beginning,” I say, forcing a lighter tone as I add, “and when you get to the part that’s going to make me sad, stop right before that.”
His lips twitch but don’t come anywhere close to a smile. “You read me pretty well.” He leans forward in the chair next to mine, elbows braced on his knees.
“It’s not that hard. You look like your dog died.”
“You know I’m a cat guy,” he says, still stalling. “Going to adopt a few when I get to L.A. Finally feel ready again.”
Jesse’s cat, Mustang Sally, died of old age a few days after the accident, while I was still in a coma and Claire was awake in the hospital. When everyone thought I was going to be the one to die. But then a blood clot took Claire and I woke up.
Our nightmare had a twist ending.
A shitty twist.
“I like cats too,” I whisper, “but I don’t want to talk about them right now. Whatever it is, I can handle it, Jesse.”
I hear the words emerge from my lips and realize . . . they’re true.
I can handle it. Even if Jesse dumps me like Chad did, I can handle it. And it wouldn’t be like Chad, anyway. Jesse and I were never a couple. And Jesse and I will still love each other, even if we decide never to kiss again.
And yes, I really want to keep kissing him. I would gladly kiss him and only him for the rest of my life, actually. I’d make that bargain with the kissing gods without a beat of hesitation.
But what we have is much more than sex.
We are forever—one way or another.
It’s so clear to me that I follow my gut and reach out, taking his hand, curling my fingers around his warmer ones. I wait until he lifts his gaze to mine and say, “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m always going to be your friend. I wouldn’t know how to stop. You are forever for me. Even if you move away and never come home, you’re going to be in my heart.”
Pain flickers across his face. He drags in a ragged breath. “Claire gave me the list after the crash. Right after. We were in hospital and you were in a coma. Her back was so messed up I had to help hold her arm while she wrote . . .” He swallows and blinks faster, his eyes beginning to shine. “She said it was going to be magic. That it would bring you back from wherever you’d gone. That somehow, you’d see how much life you had left to live and you’d come back to her. To us.”
I sit back, my hand sliding from his as I connect the dots. My blood stills. “The list . . . you mean . . .”
He nods, his throat working. “I didn’t find it while I was cleaning up her room like I said. I’ve had it for two years. She made me promise to give it to you the second you woke up. Like, if she was asleep or something and I knew you were awake before she did. But then she . . .” He presses his lips together. “She died. And you woke up and we had to tell you that she was gone and . . . I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see that list doing anything good for you at that point. I thought . . .” He sighs, shrugging stiff shoulders. “I thought it would break your fucking heart the way it broke mine.”
My jaw cramps, the back of my nose fills with razorblades, and my vision swims with tears. I sit frozen, torn between crawling into his lap and hugging him tight—so tight, offering every bit of comfort I can—and a voice in my head shouting that this isn’t okay.
That it wasn’t his choice to make.
That he made a promise and he broke it, keeping Claire from me for two miserable years. This list has brought my best friend in the universe back to me, made me feel her presence in a way I haven’t in ages. I’ve been so lonely and lost, and now . . .
Now, I feel whole again, the way I did when Claire was alive. When I could call her up any time of the day or night and get advice—or just the patient ear of someone who knew me inside and out, and loved me just the way I am.
“I’m sorry,” Jesse adds, his voice a minefield of emotions—none of them good ones. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.
“Why did you tell me that you found it?” I don’t bother to mask the hurt I feel everywhere. “Why lie, Jesse? You don’t lie. Ever. Why start with me?”