I hear him take a breath. A sharp inhale. His own feet—the same boots he almost always wears, because there’s not many shoes that fit him comfortably, a thing I know about him now—step into my line of vision, and I close my eyes, willing the wetness behind my lids to reabsorb.
“I will stop this, if that’s what you want.”
At first, I assume what he means is that he’ll stopthis—he’ll stop coming for me, stop sticking close to me, stop trying withme.
It’s what I should want; it’s what would make this next, necessary part easier. But something inside me still howls in wounded protest.
But then he adds, “I will find a way to stop this from ever getting to air. The entire trip. Everything Tegan told us even before it started. I will find a way.”
My eyes snap up to his, the howl inside me transforming into something more protective. My mind isn’t so overrun that I can’t remember what this means for him. What he stands to lose.
“No,” I say, so forcefully that he blinks in surprise. “You cannot do that.”
“I can. I’ll find a—”
“Adam, no. Listen to yourself. You cannot burn down your job and your relationship with Salem. Your reputation with everyone in this profession. You cannot do that to yourself again.”
The wince at this reminder of his past is infinitesimal. Barely a twitch. But I see it. It’s easier this way, I realize—my thoughts clearer, every catalyst for that avalanche of feeling currently muted. I remind Adam to go back to work, remind him what’s at stake for him. I get Tegan on the plane. I go home. I deal with everything else later.
“It isn’t the same,” he says.
“No, it’s not the same, you’re right. It’s bigger. You need to finish this, whatever it is, with Salem. You need to keep on the right side of things with her and your job in general, because you have a huge opportunity. You need the chance to say all the things about Cope that you didn’t get to say before. It’simportant, Adam. You know it’s important.”
His jaw works, tightening again. I get the feeling he’s fighting an avalanche of his own.
“This whole thing, Adam—this is a means to an end for you. You can’t—”
“Stop. Stop thisshit,Jess. You’re not a means to an end; you haven’t ever been that to me.”
He takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell him—mint and soap and the outside.
Why didn’t you keep his sweatshirt?my fugitive brain whirs.
“Tell me you don’t remember this morning. My hotel room in Missouri. Tell me you don’t remember that field at night. The trampoline. Tell me you don’t remember every time you sat next to me in that van; tell me you don’t remember how it’s always felt between you and me.”
He’s lowered his voice now; he keeps these secrets for me. He knows it’s what I’d want, were I in my right mind.
But I’m not. I’m not. I’m twenty-one years old again and I’ve just watched the fabric of my little sister’s life get torn in half by our mother, and I cannot let myself forget it.
Not again. Not even for a second, no matter who shows up at my door.
“We are more than this,” he says. “You know we are. You have to know, after all this—”
“I have togo, after all this.”
Surely, someone in one of these rooms has heard me. I hope Tegan didn’t, but either way, time is running out.
Ride share, airport, home.Tick, tick, tick.
Adam looks as though I’ve punched him in the solar plexus, but he only lets it stop him for a second. He’s so fucking big. He’s so fuckingstrong.
He swallows and straightens.
“This didn’t just happen to Tegan.”
His voice is gentle but determined, his eyes on me soknowing. Every thought I’m trying to keep at bay—every terrible thing I heard my mother say today, every fear I harbor about the truth of her words—he can see them. I know he can. I’velethim know all these things, because I let him know me, and I amterrified.
You’ll disappear into him. You’ll turn out exactly like her.
