My throat tightened. “I think I already did.”
“Then fix it.”
We spotted her near Exit 14. Her car held the middle lane, lights blinking through the rain.
“That’s her,” I said. “That’s her.”
I rolled down the window and waved, shouting her name into the wind. Rain slapped my face. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.
Emily looked over, confused, then shocked. Her mouth moved. I couldn’t hear the words. I pointed toward the shoulder and pressed my hands together like a prayer.
She drove another stretch before pulling over. Tires hissed on wet pavement. I was out of the truck before it stopped.
I ran across the gravel, shoes slipping, lungs burning. Headlights cut through the rain and threw light around us like a stage. Wind yanked at her coat and whipped her hair into her face as she got out of her car.
“I love you,” I said. “I love you, and I was wrong. I thought letting you go was the right thing. I thought it made me good. It didn’t. It made me scared. I should have asked you to stay. I should have told you that this place means nothing without you.”
She stared at me, eyes red, rain tracking down her cheeks. “Why now?”
“Because watching you disappear felt like losing my whole world.”
She laughed, then broke. “You couldn’t say this yesterday?”
“I was afraid,” I said. “I’m not anymore. I want a life with you. Hard days. Good coffee. You kicking me under the counter when I forget your side of the story.”
Her grip tightened on her keys. “You don’t get to say this unless you mean it.”
“I want to marry you.”
The words landed and stayed.
I pulled a napkin from my pocket. It was crumpled and stained. A ring folded from silver gum foil sat in the center.
“I didn’t have a ring,” I said. “I made this the day after you kissed me in the back office. Just in case.”
She stared at it. Then at me.
“You’re an idiot,” she said.
“I am,” I said. “But I’m yours, if you want me.”
She looked at her car. The highway. The rain. Then she looked back at me.
“I’m staying.”
I pulled her into my arms and held her close. Rain poured down and soaked us, cold and sharp, but I barely felt it. Headlights streaked past, engines roared, the world kept moving, but it all fell away.
I kissed her there on the side of the road, with the rain in our hair and our hearts pounding together, like nothing else existed, like we had finally found our way back to each other and there was nowhere else we needed to be.
EMILY
Ipulled up to the curb in front of Jason’s house. Wipers slapped back and forth. Rain hammered the car roof. I squeezed Jason’s hand, and we bolted out into the downpour.
We sprinted to the entrance. Water streamed down my face. It soaked my hair flat against my skull. It plastered my clothes to every curve. Jason fumbled with his keys at the door. Metal scraped metal. The lock clicked and we stumbled inside. Breath came fast, water dripping everywhere.
The hallway light buzzed, then flickered on overhead. The weak yellow glow caught the dark puddles on the hardwood. Floorboards gleamed wet under our footprints. The air smelled of cedar floor polish, old books, and Jason’s wild, musky werewolf scent sharpened by the storm. Bookshelves lined the right wall. Shelves sagged under rows of dog-eared paperbacks with cracked spines. Framed photos sat tucked between them: one showed us at senior prom, arms around each other, grins wide like the world would never change.
Jason kicked the door shut, and the world narrowed to us. He turned, eyes flashing with raw hunger. Water dripped from his lashes. Rivulets traced down his throat.
