I pick up more of his rambling words here and there, noticing the shift change from comforting to apologizing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought it was for me.”
He doesn’t need me to explain why I’m cracking up over something stupid drawn in the dispersing fog. Whether that’s because of his experience interpreting clues or because he just knows me, I don’t know. Nor do I care.
I withdraw from his embrace, peering up at him. He’s as blurry as the mirror.
Before I can formulate a response, he abruptly releases me and dashes a few steps away. An almost frenzied pain erases the velvet of his voice as he prattles on, “I’m so sorry, cookie. I’ll fix it. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. I can fix it.”
In full crisis mode, he scurries to the mirror with a towel he grabbed from the rack. “Don’t worry, baby. It was an accident. Almost gone. Don’t cry.”
Still stunned mute, I don’t stop him from wiping his half of the heart away. As it disappears, my anguish sharpens.
He faces me, optimism coating his features, and tosses the towel aside. “There. All fixed. Like it never happened.”
But itdidhappen.
Another dam breaks inside me, sobs shaking my chest.
Not only am I not any of the birds I’ve idolized, I’m a bellowing blue whale with a mournful song.
His mouth curves sharply downward as he returns to me, apprehension in each step. This time, I’m ready for his comfort, and I fling my arms around his waist, securing him to me like a steel band. He rests his chin on top of my damp head, and we sway together as he consoles me through my latest episode.
For a while, the only sounds are his mumbled apologies and my pathetic whimpers.
Eventually, I get my act together and stop impersonating a fragile flower. I loosen my death-grip on him, step out of his arms, and wipe my face.
I need to explain and assuage his guilt, but he starts back in with his needless apologies before I get a chance. “I won’t ever do it again. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
“Stop,” I utter, thrusting my palm out. “Please, just stop. I need to tell you why?—”
He jumps back in, his defense case ready for the jury. “You don’t need to say it. I figured it out when I realized where you were looking. And I get it.I do.I just wish I had realized soonerwhat it was. I thought you were trying to be cute and did it for me. I knownowthat it wasn’t my heart to complete.”
I stamp my foot and pout. “Reed, stop it. Let me talk.”
He looks contrite, head downcast and regret lining his eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to explain.”
“Clearly, Idoneed to explain.” I gesture at him, swiping my hand from head to toe. “You’ve got it wrong.”
His shoulders sag, and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Go ahead. I’ll listen.Silently.”
It’s not the time to gloat, but I sort of like how fast I humbled him to silence.
Padding close to him, I trail my hands along the outsides of his arms to ease his apprehension. “Reed, I’mnotmad at you. Not even a little.”
He narrows his eyes at me, quirking his head to the side with curiosity. But his mouth wisely remains closed.
“As you surmised, that’s something Zara and I used to do before she...?died.” Pausing, I swallow down the grief so I can continue. “I’ve done it so long it’s an automatic ritual. But I was crying because I never thought I’d see the other side of the heart again. And it made me—” Even though I’m trying to hold it together, a scant whimper slips free. “It made mehappy.”
His eyes scream at me that he has something to say, so I lower my head to encourage him to speak. “Lila, are you sure you aren’t trying to make me feel better? I mean, you were really...” His words trail off, probably because he doesn’t want to call it like it was—me, cracking up and falling to shambles in his arms.
Because of a childish heart drawn on a mirror.
My shoulders rise and fall with an indulgent sigh. “Yes, Reed. I’m sure. Believe it or not, I was hysterically bawling like an inconsolable toddler because I was happy. Overjoyed, actually. Not only for me, but for you too. We don’t have to be... brokenhearted anymore.”
Assuming he can keep me out of prison.
I slip my hands around the back of his nape, nudging his face to mine. Instead of hoping he’ll kiss me like I normally do, I take control this time. It’s my turn to comfort him.
Tenderly, I join our mouths, wiping away his fear of hurting me with each graze of our lips.
