“I’m sorry,” I exhale, with this renewed invigoration. I peer up at him, at the kindness in his eyes, and become even stronger. “I’m so sorry, Nico, for the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve that.Ididn’t deserve that. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”
He holds me at arm’s length now, staring at me like he’s seeing me anew. He nods once, accepting my apology without words, but his eyes say it all. He forgives me. I may not deserve it, because I’m still a raging, fucking bit?—
He pulls me close again, softer this time.
“You aregood,” he says, voice barely above a murmur. “You arefun. You are strong. Appreciate that, at the very least. And you exist. You do.”
I snort. “To who?”
“To May.”
“Well, obviously—she’s my twin?—”
“—to me,” he interrupts, low and slow.
I look up at him. He’s so intensely serious about this that his jaw is clenched. His brows are pulled tight. But his eyes—those warm, brown, soul-deep eyes—don’t waver. They hold me steady, safe, secure. Maybe that’s what I should name those three moles dotting the smooth expanse of his disgustingly handsome face.
“You don’t know me,” I say, trying to deflect that thought, shoo it away.
“I think I do,” he replies. “Because if we’re talkin’ ghosts—Annie, I’ve been one, too. Just a different kind.”
I breathe and wait.
“You gave me the rest,” he says with a faint smile. “Now you can have mine.”
Before I can speak, Nico kicks off his shoes, the sound of them hitting the dirt absurdly loud in the stillness. He peels off his socks with exaggerated care, like he’s putting on a show. He starts walking backwards, slow, theatrical steps, retreating toward the edge of the cliff.
“What are you?—?”
He just winks.
And, with ridiculous, arrogant confidence, he reaches over his shoulder, grabs the back of his T-shirt, and pulls it off in one smooth motion.
My breath catches so hard I actually stagger.
It’sthatchest.
With thatfuckingtattoo.
But the grin on his face—wild, unrepentant, teasing—says it all. It’s the grin of a man who’s just shattered a wall.
My face cracks open, like I can’t hold emotion in anymore. Like joy is pouring out of me from every seam. There’s a sound—a real, sharp, dizzying thing that comes from somewhere low in my gut. A noise of pure, undiluted delight rips free from my throat, half-scream, half-laughter.
With that, he backflips off the edge of the cliff.
NINETEEN
Annie
Nico’s headbreaks through the surface of the lake, whips back and forth as he clears the water from his face. His smile is as blinding as the sun’s reflection on the water surrounding him. He leans back and assumes a casual float, that duck on his pec bobbing through the water, while I stare and stare and stare.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he finally calls up. “Get in here and wash away those sins, honey.”
Another hysterical giggle breaks free. “Wow,” I say.
“Wow,” he agrees.
I sit at the edge of the cliff and dangle my legs. “Are you the Jesus in this baptismal scenario?”
