I guess it’s still just the three of us after all.
25
Addison
I push away from him.Gently, though. So carefully. I don’t want to hurt him. Physically, or emotionally.
Warren cups my cheek, stares into my eyes.
It is his gaze, the one I fell in love with. But it’s all wrong.
I’m looking into brown eyes, and longing for blue.
“Warren, I—”
“Addy!”
Shannon wraps me in a hug, and I can taste her fraudulent friendliness. Because we’re in front of Warren, I play nice. And also, I’m too shocked to form an intelligent argument against her, to do anything except go along with her.
She looks smug, and I don’t know why. A moment ago she looked upon Warren and I with disapproval.
Warren sways, blinking hard and slow a few times, and Shannon jumps into action, leading him to the bench I’d been on when I saw him. I follow, my shoes crunching the popcorn that fell to the ground when my whole world was upended by the mother of all surprises.
Shannon helps Warren sit, and I sink down beside him. She frowns at me for taking the place she was going to sit in but recovers before Warren can notice, hovering over him instead. “Are you okay? Do you need to rest?”
She reminds me of a curly-winged gnat. No matter how many times you shoo it away, it won’t leave you the fuck alone.
“Shannon?” Warren asks, looking at her. His expression is appreciative, but it also says she’s worn out her welcome for the time being. “Can I get some time alone with Addison?”
“Of course,” she murmurs.
Over his head she gives me a hostile look, acid covered in sugar, before turning on her heel and disappearing behind a row of tents.
“She means well,” Warren comments, looking after her. “She’s suffocating though.” He grabs for his throat with both hands, miming his words.
When I don’t crack a smile, he waves a hand at the sky. “The weather is nice.”
I’m not interested in small talk, though it seems Warren is. I know this is hard for him, probably more than I realize.
But guess what? This is an out-of-body experience for me too. Chatting about the weather isn’t going to cut it right now.
“Warren, how are you here?” I angle my body toward him, my knee propped on the bench and my arms draped along the back. I can’t believe it’s his face I’m seeing right now. He dominated my thoughts for so long.
He turns to me, and his skinny face swells before my eyes. Love, desire, longing, they fill the hollows in his skin formed by months of inactivity. “I woke up,” he says simply, as if there is no more explanation than that.
“Right,” I say slowly, nodding, understanding his answer but still not absorbing it. “But, how? And when?”
His head travels slowly back and forth, as if the answers elude even him. “I don’t know how I woke up. I just did. I opened my eyes, and I was in this room I’d never seen before. It was white with—”
“Watercolor paintings of flowers,” I say, remembering all the hours I spent sitting in a chair beside a sleeping Warren.
“Yes,” he breathes, reaching for my free hand. He intertwines his fingers through mine, and I stare down in amazement. This is Warren’shand.Warren’s.
“I woke up alone,” he continues. “I was frightened. And confused. I’d had so many dreams, and I wasn’t sure if I was still in one. Then a nurse walked in, and she didn’t notice at first. She was nearly to my bed when she looked at my face.”
His lips curl into a smile as he remembers. “She shrieked. She dropped whatever she was holding and ran from the room. Then there were so many people in the room I thought there was no way another person could fit. Only a couple were doing anything useful; the rest just wanted to see me. And I still didn’t know what it was they were looking at. I wondered if I was disfigured.”
My heart lurches, picturing the curious and astonished gazes. It must have been terrifying.
