“Can we listen to it?” I ask softly.
His cheeks flush crimson as he clears his throat and takes the CD. Without a word, he slips it into the stereo. When he returns, he switches off the light, leaving us illuminated only by moonlight spilling through the window and I sink into his pillow, inhaling his scent.
He lies down beside me, mirroring my position. His eyes catches mine as the first tracks begin to play and the music’s beautiful—raw, emotional, brimming with experience I can feel in every note.
WhenTotal Eclipse of the Heartstarts, my pulse stutters.
Vincent leans closer, brushing a damp strand from my cheek, and begins to whisper the lyrics softly to me: “Together, we can take it to the end of the line. Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time... I don’t know what to do, I’m always in the dark, we’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks. I really need you tonight... forever’s gonna start tonight...”
His voice falters into a smile. “This song made me think of you.”
“What?” My own voice is a whisper.
He presses a kiss to my nose. “Every word of this song screamsNova Elizabeth Dehlia Marshall.”
I search his gaze, desperate for confirmation to my questions, but as always, his expression is unreadable—enigmatic, a riddle I can’t solve.
Instead, he pulls me into his arms, tangling our legs together. My face buries in the crook of his neck, lulled by the rhythm of his breath and Bonnie Tyler’s soaring voice. He holds me tighter, as if answering the plea in the song itself. As if he knows exactly how I feel.
On the fourth replay, I hum along, and soon we’re singing together in the dark, our voices fitting as if they always belonged.
I don’t know if he’s singing for the same reason I am. But I do know I’ve never felt closer to him than in this moment.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nova Marshall
PRESENT (2023)
"As long as you're excited about what you're playing,
and as long as it comes from your heart, it's going to be great."
John Frusciante
––––––––
Voices wake me up, and when I open my eyes, I find myself in front of a cake with purple frosting and colored sugar sprinkles.
Steven, Maggie, Vincent, Sam, and Will are gathered around my bed, singing happy birthday with smiles on their faces.
Steven holds up the cake, Maggie carries a bouquet of daisies, Will balances a stack of gift packages, Sam holds a plate of chocolate donuts, and Vincent strums the melody of the song on his guitar.
Fleur joins in too, leaping onto me and licking my face.
All my friends burst out laughing—and I laugh with them. When Fleur finally stops wishing me a happy birthday in herown way, I sit up in bed and look at the people around me. Their soft and warm smiles makes me so happy.
My eyes flick briefly to Vincent, who wears the same sweet smile he has reserved for me since we were kids.
He came to surprise me with our friends—even though we fought two weeks ago.
Steven sits down beside me, kisses my forehead, and sets the cake on my lap. “Make a wish, babe.”
I close my eyes, fold my hands together, and intertwine my fingers. I hate my birthday. I’ve never hated August 7 as much as I do now. And yet, these five people managed to make me wake up thinking: “Today will be different. Today, maybe I won’t have to pretend to be happy again.”
With their love, they make me believe—just for a moment—that maybe my smile can be real for once.
I feel everyone sitting close on my bed as I prepare to blow out the candles. My wish hasn’t changed since I turned seventeen: I want Asher back in my life.
