“What do you want?”
“Is she here?” Tally’s car was in its parking spot.
“That depends.” Brooklyn cocked her head, frowning. “Are you going to fix what you did?”
“I’m going to try.” It was all the promise I could make.
Her frown deepened. “Why didn’t you come over here in the first place? She’s been in her room for a week. She won’t let me open the curtains. She’s wasting away,” she hissed. “Between you and this Leggs jerk who won’t respond to her messages, I’m ready to punch some men in the face.” She muttered something I couldn’t understand. “All y’all make memiss Madden. Maybe he was vanilla but at least he didn’t make her cry.”
I sighed. “Can I come in please?”
She opened the door with a hand flourish. “Right this way.”
Then she stormed into the kitchen, shoved a pair of AirPods in her ears, and jammed her hands into a sink full of dishwater. I waited for her to call for Tally to come out to the living room.
She looked over at me and pulled out one AirPod. “What are you waiting for? Do you need me to hold your hand?” She tipped her head toward the hallway. “Go.”
So I did.
When I got to Tally’s door I knocked lightly. No answer. I knocked louder.
“Go away,” she mumbled.
I shouldn’t have even thought about going into her room. It was completely inappropriate, but I was breaking all the rules anyway.
I opened the door, walked in, and closed it shut behind me. Brooklyn hadn’t lied. It was dark in here. Tally’s blackout curtain would’ve fooled me into believing the sun had set. But her ceiling was lit up from a projector on her dresser putting on a decent display of the Northern Lights. The air in the room smelled stale. I could barely make out Tally’s long, thin form on the bed. Her legs were twisted around a blanket and her arms wrapped around a body pillow. She was in her pajamas. But her eyes were open. At the sight of me, they widened, but she made no move to get up, and she didn’t say hello.
I knelt beside the bed and propped my elbows on her mattress so we were at eye level. “Hey,” I said quietly.
“Hi,” she whispered. “What are you doing in my room, Professor Dupree?”
I winced at her words. It was just one sentence but it saidso many things. I’d drawn a line, forced her to stay on the other side, and now I was stepping over. Something I wouldn’t allow her to do.
“I came to tell you that I’m sorry.”
She chewed her bottom lip but said nothing.
So I continued. “And that I think you should come to class before you kill your grade.”
Her eyes were solemn but expectant. Waiting for more. But then they dropped to my cast. She reached out and ran her fingertips over it. “You broke your hand.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. I did.” I leaned forward and wrapped my good hand around the one she’d touched my cast with. I lifted our hands and pressed my palm to hers, finger to finger—the same way I did with my dad when I was little, hoping mine were finally as big as his. My hand swallowed hers. I slid my fingers between hers, creating a bridge between us.
This was it. As soon as I said my next words, nothing would ever be the same again.
I dropped my forehead to our joined hands and began. “First glance, last thought. You’re etched in my soul.” I tested the words, barely above a whisper. “Your dreams, your smile—you make me whole.”
Her breath hitched. “What?” she uttered, her voice barely a tiptoe.
I held her gaze so she’d know I wasn’t ashamed. “Nine years I've loved you, silent and deep. Your dark eyes haunt me, awake and asleep.”
“No. There’s no way,” she said louder. Her eyes were full of hope, but at any second she’d realizeeverythingthis meant.
There it was.
Horror was the first emotion, then fear.
I had to get this in before she shut me down. “You carry your burdens, I long to share.”
