“It’s okay,” I spit out, trying to reel things back. “I don’t expect—You don’t owe me—”
“Shutup,Snow.”
I shut up.
I think Baz is still crying.
I’m so bad at this. At people. At him. I shouldn’t have come here. I stand up—
His hand latches on to my wrist. “Don’t you dare.”
I sit down again. “Okay. Sorry.”
Baz doesn’t let go. His hand is cold. He’s still looking at his lap. “What does that mean?” He sounds careful. “That you want to try?”
“Just what I said. That I want—That I wish I could—That I would like to—” I clench my jaw for a second. “Try.With you. Tosee. . . if it could be different.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to give up.”
Baz scowls up at me. “Am I a video game you’re trying to beat?”
“No!”
He pulls on my arm, but doesn’t pull me close. “Then why?”
“Because you were right! I didn’t try. I gave up on us. And I can’t—I can’t live with myself—”
“I don’t care!”
I take Baz’s other hand. By the wrist. He’s holding me back, and I’m holding on to him. “I can’t go on, Baz, knowing that it could have been different!”
“That sounds like another apology.”
I look in his cold, grey eyes. I beg him to understand. I’m growling again, I know it. “I want to . . .try.Because—BecauseI love you, Baz.I love you, and I didn’t think that I couldkeepyou. But if there’s a chance . . . If there’s any chance at all . . . Ican’t—Iwant—Ineed—”
Baz’s hand goes slack on my arm.
I let go of him.
I push my palms into my eyes. They’re wet—how long have I been crying? Baz isn’t saying anything, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now. I drop my hands and look up at him, desperate for a clue.
Baz’s mouth is slightly open, and his eyebrows have pulled up in the middle. “You . . .loveme?”
BAZ
Snow nods. “Yeah,” he says, “of course.”
Like it’s obvious.
It isn’t obvious. It has not been obvious.
“You never said,” I say.
“Haven’t I?”
“No.”
