"And you—" She stops. “Everything you did.”
"I’m so fucking sorry." I reach for her, but she pulls away. “I’m sorry, Adela. I am.”
"How do I come back from that?" She looks at me. Not angry. Not performing anything. Just a girl asking a real question. "How do I look at you and not see all of it. How do you come backfrom knowing that the person who loved you most was also the person who—"
"I don't know," I say, cutting her off. I can’t hear her fucking say it again. I told Theo and Beckett that I’d let her choose, but I’m not letting her go. I don’t give a fuck about keeping my word with them because all that matters is her.
“I need you to hear me. You can be mad at me, Adela, but don’t throw away everything we have together because of my stupid fucking mistake. It won’t ever happen again. I swear on my grandfather’s grave. I swear on my life. My heart is yours and only yours."
She looks at me for a long time.
The morning light sits between us.
"I'm still angry," she says.
"I know."
"I'm going to be angry for a long time."
"I understand."
"And you need to know that what happened in that hospital room—" Her voice drops. "That didn't go away. That's not something I'm going to just—"
"I know," I say. "I'm not asking you to."
She looks at her hands.
I look at her hands too.
I think about every version of this girl I've known — the one in the blue dress at the party, the one in cherry print pajamas with Maeve, the one in my hospital room with her composed face doing the most convincing performance of her life, the one in this kitchen right now with her hands wrapped around a cold mug and her eyes tired and her composure finally, finally put down.
This one.
This is the one I love most.
The one with nothing left to perform.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say. "However long it takes. However angry you are. I'm not going anywhere."
She looks at me.
Something moves across her face.
Not forgiveness — it's too soon for forgiveness, and we both know it. But something. Something that was closed six weeks ago in a hospital room that is not entirely closed right now in this kitchen in the early morning gray.
“Stand up,” I say, standing from my chair.
I pull her into a hug. A tight, genuine hug. I’ve needed this for months.
“I know I fucked everything up, but I’m going to make it up to you.”
She doesn’t hug me back at first, but then her arms fall around me, and we stay in this hug for some time.
She pulls back. “Why am I here, Cody?”
I release her and rub my face. “Because… I’m not the only one who wants to talk to you.”
She picks up her mug and drinks her cold coffee.
