“The terraforming on Neptune didn’t take as it should have. Now the planet is mostly desert, sand as far as the eye can see. Water is the most precious commodity. Not a drop is wasted.” With a level stare, he took my hands more firmly in his. “As a result, for the people of Neptune, crying is strictly forbidden.”
Another dry swallow burned in my throat. “I didn’t know that.”
“In such harsh climates, the mortality rate is astronomical. Especially infants, children. An entire planet of parents and grandparents burdened not only with surviving on one of the most inhospitable planets in my solar system, but also forbidden to fully mourn their losses.”
Nausea twisted my stomach. An entire planet of beings locked in grief. Like I was locked in grief. It was inconceivable.
But then Freddie said, “Unless it rains.”
“It doesn’t rain on Neptune, though, does it?” I asked.
“It does. Once or twice a year. But when it rains, and only when it rains, the people of Neptune are free to go outside, sit underneath the downpour, and weep over those they’ve lost. They call it the Sorrowing.”
“I can’t do that, though,” I said, having a hard time finding my breath, the room closing in all around me. “It never rains on theIgnisar.”
“It’s true,” he agreed. “It never rains on theIgnisar. But that doesn’t mean it can’t.”
A drop of water splashed onto my wrist. I stared at the trail it made over my skin when another drop fell, and then another. He must have accessed the room’s weather controls.
“What are you doing?”
A raindrop landed on his nose. “Letting it rain.”
Scant drops became a sprinkling, a pattering on the floor, in my hair. And then the skies opened up. The rain fell, warm but insistent. It seeped into my eyes, my mouth, drenching me until I felt suffocated by it. “Stop,” I begged, pleading with him while I struggled to breathe.
he commed softly. After another gentle squeeze, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead, dripping off his lashes, he released my hands.
I gasped, and water flooded my mouth. I spat it out, but my mouth filled again. The rain was driving, merciless. I shook. I trembled. I gnashed my teeth, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to hit something, anything. But even though a frantic panic raged inside me, stronger than the storm, stronger than anything I’d felt since the accident, I didn’t access the controls. I didn’t make it stop.
And I wasn’t sure when I started to cry. But with the rain streaming down my face as if in solidarity, giving me permission, mixing with my tears, concealing them, I collapsed, folding to rest my head on the cold, wet ground as vicious sobs racked my body.
Freddie’s hands were on me, pulling me into his lap. His arms encircled me, holding me together as I dissolved, as the rain washed my tears from my face before they had a chance to drop from my eyes. Brushing his fingers over my hair, he rocked me from side to side. And I clung to him while everything poured out of me. Five years of stored-up grief, of unshed tears.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s all right. It’s all right.”
Even through the unrelenting sobs, I felt him there with me. I felt how much I’d missed him—his lips, his touch, the warmth of his body, and how safe he made me feel. It felt like coming home.
After some time, the violence of my tears giving way to something less demanding, I turned my face to his. I cupped his cheek, feeling the wetness that was either from the rain or his own tears, maybe both. And then I kissed him while the storm faded gently away.
“I’m sorry,” I said against his lips. “I should have told you, talked to you. I should have been better.”
He pulled away, looking at me with a ferocity that stole my breath. “Don’t say that. Never say that. You couldn’t be better if you tried.”
Five years without more than a single tear, and now they wouldn’t stop. When I kissed him again, my tears slipped between our lips, salty and cool. Until he broke the kiss to take my face between his hands. “Wait. Who are we right now?” His eyes searched mine, desperate for an answer. “Who am I kissing? I need to know.”
More tears swelled, obscuring my vision. Because I knew what he was asking.Am I kissing Phoebe or Sunny? Is this real or only more make-believe?
Blinking my tears free so I could meet his gaze clearly, my voice breaking, shattering, I confessed. “I love you, Freddie—you and only you. I love you like I never thought I could love anyone again. And I think I have for a long while now.”
We were still soaked,but we were in his pod, on his bed, our clothes in a wet heap on the floor. He’d settled betweenmy legs, kissing me, telling me he loved me, that he was sorry, that I was beautiful.
When he pushed into me, our hearts beating next to each other, our breaths soft and even, all I could do was kiss him back. And while we moved together, slow and careful, I realized that I had never made love to another being before. Not like this, not when it wasn’t for pleasure or power or fun, but only to let that other person inside me completely, holding nothing back, leaving no single dark corner of myself hidden from them.
With my gaze fixed on his while his hands cradled my head and mine cupped his face, I felt held, safe, loved. On this, the anniversary of the single worst day of my life, I felt loved. It was enough to make me start crying all over again.
But he was there, kissing my tears away one by one, making love to me until there was no sadness left.
29
