“Test them out. Decide which are your favorites.”
I just shake my head, but then he says…
“We might need them.” This… takes my breath away. Because the only reason I’d need these would be if we signed those papers when we get home.
“Especially since I’m gonna be out of commission for about… six months.”
Wait, what? I thought… “Did you just say six months? You’re joking, right?”
He exhales and drops his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Unfortunately, no. Simon says it needs that long to heal properly. God. I’m never drinking whisky again.”
“But why…” I mean, I’d been totally shocked that he’d done it in the first place, but…six months? As in… one hundred and eighty days? “Are you sure?”
He just nods.
“But… Oh, Beckett.”
He’s quiet for a second, keeping his head back, but meets my eyes from under his lashes.
“If I lost everything,” he says, “if I lost you… six months wouldn’t matter.”
The words hit with a quiet, devastating force.
“You’re gonna have to tell me what’s going on. You know that, don’t you? I can’t go on like this forever…”
He winces a little. “I know, Ash. I know. And I will, as soon as I can..” Why does he look so helpless?
Why does it melt the last few barriers I’m trying to keep up?
I reach up and touch his cheek, and he leans into my hand, eyes closing. Like he’s been starving for my touch for months.
And oh, gosh.Six months?
“I thought piercings only took a few weeks to heal.”
“The less invasive ones might.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “But me? I went all in. Six months. Minimum.”
But I’m sitting on his lap! “Am I sitting on…?” I go to move, but he holds me to him.
When he doesn’t answer, I ask again. “Are you in pain?”
“No.” But his jaw tenses. Just the tiniest bit.
“It hurts,” I say.
“... A little. Not as much as…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but I know.
I know because I feel it too.
“Oh Beckett…” My voice cracks.Just tell me. Tell me everything.But we’ve been through that before. He asked me to wait.
AndI am. Waiting. But I’m not doing nothing.
So I do the logical thing. I pretend that both of us are going to have to endure his six months of healing. And that in six months, he and I will be an… us.
Which means…
I lift the toy again—absurdly, like it might make this conversation easier—and waggle it. “So… how do we do this?”
