He holds the phone to his ear even after I pull mine away and press the end button.
I look at him standing in that window across the drive. I outline him there, tucking it away with all the other memories of him through that glass. Then I yank the curtains closed.
Lana Del Reyswoons her sultry voice through my phone speaker on the bathroom counter. The perfect soundtrack to my pathetic unraveling.
The water has long since gone cold, but I barely notice. I rest my wet head on my bent knees, the water sloshing with my movement. The bath helped ease my sore muscles, but it did nothing to soothe my spiraling thoughts.
I can't get the ghost of his hands off my skin or the feel of his breath over my lips. He said so many things yesterday that made me feel like we were finally doing this.
He followed me home. He's right next door, yet my music hasn't been interrupted by a call or text. He's still silent. Would he even have told me he was there, had I not called?
I left the bathroom lights off, just a soft glow from the nightlight in the outlet. The air was thick from the hot water, but it's thin and cool now. I climb out when my eyes start to droop and dry off with slow movements.
Wrapped in a towel, I shiver when the last lingering layers of warmth give way to the cold air of the hallway as I pad over to my bedroom.
The house is quiet, and I can tell it's late from the sunlight being replaced by silvery threads of moonlight through the hallway window.
I push my door open and freeze.
Bowen is sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows resting on his thighs. He's spinning one of his rings like he was doing this morning. He must sense me, or he can hear how fast my heart hammers every time he's close.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I clutch the towel harder. My hazel eyes find his blue in the dim light of the lamp, and I have to press myself against the door to stop my feet from flying towards him.
He looks as wrecked as I feel.
“I'm terrified,” he says, low, like speaking too loud will make the fear materialize into a tangible beast between us.
“Of what?” I ask, looking at him through wet lashes.
“Losing you again,” he says, voice cracking. He scrubs his hands over his face and drops them back to dangle between his spread thighs. “I was caught off guard this morning, Kit. All I saw was your ticket out, and I knew you'd take it.”
“You didn't ask me not to leave.”
“You didn't ask me if you could stay,” he snaps, jumping to his feet. “You just stood there, let me gut both of us by being a dick. And for the fucking record, kitten, you didn't kiss me goodbye either.”
What?
“I've been scared of losing you my whole goddamn life, baby. So scared, I refused to see what's been right in front of me,” he sucks in a breath, rubbing his chest. His eyes shine, and my knees feel like they're going to crumble.
“Bowen…”
“How can't you see it?” I watch him move towards me, fingers splayed on the cool wood of the door at my back. I shake my head and choke when his hands reach for my face. His thumbs swipe the tears from my cheeks.
I sidestep his touch, my body wanting to revolt at the loss. I don't miss the hurt on his face, but I square my shoulders when they want to cave in anyway.
“Because I spent years pining over you, Bowen. My entire teenage years, I spent wishing and hoping. I got a sliver of you when I was already in the bowels of fucking hell, and I didn't claw myself out fast enough to keep you. I convinced myself it was a pity fuck. Or you had a weak moment and needed comfort. Two years is a long time to come to your own conclusions. I waited for a call. A text. A fucking carrier pigeon.” I huff, feeling vulnerable standing naked and bare, wrapped in nothing but a towel and a lifetime of hurt.
Bowen looks gutted, jaw so tense I'm sure his teeth are creaking under the pressure.
“You don't want me, anyway. I'm a recovering alcoholic. I write your brother letters like he's still here to read them. I'm selfish and self-centered. I believe the worst before I think rationally. I'm soft and sensitive. I cry a lot, and I need a partner who’s going to chase me every fucking time life convinces me to run.” I suck in a breath, feeling lightheaded.
“I can't look at myself in the mirror some days. I used to talk to my reflection like it was him,” Bowen starts, moving half a step towards me. “I spent my teenage years wondering why it hurt so much to see you hurt. I convinced myself you didn't want me around because it was easier than admitting I wanted things I didn't understand.” Another half step. “I'm angry half the time, and words are fucking hard. I can't promise you I'll have the right ones to say, but…I promise you I'll try. And I promise you, kitten, if you want me to chase you, I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. Now please, for the love of fucking God, let me touch you.”
We fall together somewhere in the middle. I don't know who kisses who first. All I know is I can finally breathe with his lips on mine. He holds my face, wiping away the last tears.
“I'm sorry,” he murmurs again and again against my mouth. I let him swallow my whimpered apologies and cling to him like my life depends on it.
It feels like it does.
