She didn’t realise her eyes were closed again, but she opens them to find him staring right back at her. The sight of him looking at her like that is enough to send another pulse running straight through her, even as she bows up, meeting his rhythm.
You, she thinks.Always you.
She says his name as she comes again, almost like it’s a spell. He captures her final cry with his mouth, linking their fingers together above her head. And together, they shatter.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ash is curled around her when she wakes, his arm holding her in place, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against her back. The duvet has been kicked to the end of the bed, far too warm to need it. Maybe that’s what woke her – the heat. The window is open, but the breeze it’s trying to tempt is non-existent.
She has no idea what time they fell asleep, or what time it is now. She blinks into the dark, moonlight filtering through a gap in the curtains. She shifts a little, easing away from him. She feels sore, in a good way. But she also feels restless, like she’s only got more energy after last night, not less.
It takes her all of about a minute to decide she can’t stay here pretending to sleep. She’s never been very good at sharing a bed with someone – always feels too vulnerable. And while it’s different with Ash, she figures she’ll go for a walk – cool down, work off a bit of the energy – and be back before he wakes.
She dresses in whatever clothes she can find and heads out of the cottage. The night air is pleasantly cool on her sticky skin. Pieces of last night come back to her, making her smile – and making her glad she is alone. The sound of his name on her lips. The way he looked at her when he was inside her.
The feeling she had, a kind of certainty.You. Always you.
She feels it again, a restless jump inside her. Something crawling under her skin, like it’s waiting to be set free.
The ocean seems restless, too. It’s calm on the surface, but as she weaves her way down the cliff path towards the shoreline under the bright moonlight, it’s like she can sense something underneath it. It seems silly to think that. What does she know about the sea?
But still. It feels like something is happening. Like something has changed. She supposes it has, because there’s no going back after last night, is there? A choice, Saskia said. Is this it? Has she already made it?
She stops when she reaches the beach, waves coming up to the tips of her trainers. She can remember what it felt like to drown. Can imagine it now, the water sucking her under.
She was in water when she figured it out, saw the first time she died. And that’s what she needs now. She needs to see beyond the veil, or however Saskia phrased it. Because there’s got to be something else she’s missing.
She slips off her shoes, dips a toe into the water. It’s not exactly warm, but it’s not freezing. She’s not really thinking as she strips off down to her underwear. She’s letting whatever is inside her drive her on. Because of last night. Because she can’t be with Ash – really be with him – if she doesn’t understand, if she’s still lost in the past.
She wades deeper. Her heart is hammering fast, but it’s the usual fear she’s feeling. She thinks of Ash’s comment right before he jumped.You only live once.
But she hasn’t only lived once, has she?
The water is cold around her as she reaches shoulder-deep. Her lungs feel tight, like they’re preparing for something, and she can feel her heart in the base of her throat.
It’s so easy to relive the memories. The manor house from the 1920s. The jazz band, the champagne, the laughter. The sound of his voice caressing her skin. His gaze meeting hers. Dancing. A hand sliding up her thigh underneath a table, somewhere no one can see. The sleeve of her dress pushed off one shoulder, a kiss pressed there as her back arches.
Him driving her home.Thanks for the ride. You’re my hero.
Hero.Hey, hero.
Walking through Paris hand in hand. Knowing it had been hard for him, his first big premiere, without his father there. His father too afraid to leave the house.
Agoraphobia.
Yeah. I guess.
Him singing on the lake, rowing his way towards her. Drawing him in charcoal. His dad hasn’t been the same since the war.
A film composer. A location scout. A singer.
Dimly, Lissa can feel the water bobbing around her, the tips of her fingers turning numb. But she’s only partially here. Because now she’s back there again, a different body of water around her as she falls into the loch, pain as her lungs threaten to explode. The certainty that it’s not just her who will die, because she’s pulling him under with her.
A car speeding towards her. Too slow – she’s too slow to move out of the way, so he comes for her, trying to save her.
And now a new memory, the final piece. A feeling of utter joy as she moves hand in hand with him through New York. Because she’s chosen him, because he’s found a gig in a band right here in the city, because he wants to stay with her.
Dragging him down an alley, desperate to touch him. Laughter.
