“You’re dead,” accuses Zeke. “I went to your funeral, Bash. I gave a fuckingeulogy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’resorry? You’re fuckingsorry?! You think that’s?—”
Then Yasmin steps out from behind Eliana, and everything else becomes irrelevant.
Zeke’s words die on his lips. His face goes pale.
For a long moment, neither one of them moves. Yasmin stands frozen in the hallway, her fingers still pressed to her lips where she’d been gnawing her nails. Zeke stares at her like she’s aghost—which, fair enough, given the circumstances. Guess we’re running a whole resurrection convention tonight.
“Yas…” he whispers.
Then he’s moving, crossing the threshold and shouldering me aside. Yasmin meets him halfway. They collide in the doorway with enough force that I hear the breath leave both of them. Zeke’s arms wrap around her and she buries her face in his neck, her shoulders shaking.
“I thought—” He pulls back just enough to cup her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones like he’s checking to make sure she’s real. “I woke up in the ambulance and you were gone.No one would tell me where you went. The cops kept asking questions and I couldn’t—I didn’t know if you were hurt or dead or?—”
“I’m sorry,” Yasmin chokes out. “I’m so sorry, we had to run, we couldn’t?—”
He kisses her. Hard. Desperate.I thought I lost you,it says.I thought I’d never see you again.
“You’re here,” he chokes out, burying his face in her hair. “You’re actually here.”
“I’m here,” Yasmin whispers back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I?—”
“Shut up.” Zeke’s arms tighten around her. “Just shut up. You’re here.”
She’s crying, he’s crying, and I have to look away because watching them is like staring directly at the sun. The protein bar lies forgotten on the floor, slowly getting crushed under their shuffling feet as they sway together in the doorway.
That’s what Eliana and I could have been, in some other timeline. In a world where I didn’t pick up that knife.
I glance at her. She’s standing beside me, her head tilted toward the sounds of reunion. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing.
I wish it mattered.
Fuck, how I wish it mattered.
20
BASTIAN
window pane test /'windo pan test/: noun
1: stretching dough thin enough to see light through without tearing; proof that gluten has developed properly.
2: watching your little brother’s shadow through a dirty window and knowing you'll tear yourself apart before you let him break.
Zeke’s apartment hasn’t changed much since my untimely demise. It still smells like stale gym sweat and Thai basil, his unfolded laundry covers every flat surface, and canisters of protein powder stand sentry over the kitchen.
But I see the things thathavechanged. That baseball bat propped against the shoe rack in the entryway, for instance… That definitely wasn’t there before. It speaks to nights of anxious fear, of gripping and re-gripping that bat with slippery hands while every sound at the door makes you jump…
As with the bags under Eliana’s eyes, I look at Zeke’s drawn, exhausted grimace and I think to myself,I did that. This is all my fault. Every fucking bit of it.
Zeke finally releases Yasmin long enough to usher us all inside, though his hand stays firmly looped around her hip like he’s afraid she’ll evaporate if he stops touching her.
I get it. God, do I get it.
“Someone want to explain,” Zeke asks, “why my dead best friend just showed up at my door with two women I thought were missing persons?”
