My hands slide up to his chest. “Still trying to convince yourself that this is a bad idea?” I murmur.
His grip tightens slightly. “I think I’ve passed that point.”
“Good.” I don’t give him another moment. I’m up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his. It’s not soft, not tentative. It’s everything we didn’t get to do the night of the crash. The tension, the want, and the relief.
One of his hands moves to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. Holding me there, in place, right where he wants me.
My fingers curl into his shirt. This is what I needed. What we both did. To break down, to let it out. And then to put it all back in place together.
I start to tug at his shirt… just as his phone rings in his pocket.
We both freeze. For a moment, he ignores it. I almost tell him to but then it goes silent. We stare at each other while our hands stay frozen in place. Resolution floods his eyes as my mouth pops open again, ready to resume.
Until it rings again. His expression shifts. Not annoyance, but recognition.
I release his shirt, letting him step back from me. I know he needs it. And it’s starting to feel like the universe is telling us that we’re not allowed to do this.
“I have to take this.”
Mood, gone. “I know.”
Reality comes crashing back as he answers. “Thornton.”
Silence. I know he’s just listening to the person on the other end, but I still hate how heavy it is.
His body goes still. “Where?”
Oh, no. My stomach drops. I’ve seen that look on his face before, at the fire and on the highway.
“Is she identified?” he asks. A pause. “…Understood.”
He hangs up but doesn’t move.
“Alex?”
He looks up at me, but I already know, this is bad.
“They found a body,” he says.
A band tightens over my chest. “F-from the ring?”
He nods. “There are signs of cyanosis. And there’s something else.”
His tone changes to something so much more frightening that I can’t help but pinch my fingers together against my stomach.
“She’s your age,” he continues. “Same general description.”
My chest stutters. “What?”
His mouth forms a grim line. “She looks like you.”
The room suddenly feels so much smaller, colder, like it’s closing in on me.
“How do you know?”
“Mason told me,” he gestures with his phone before sticking it back in his pocket.
“That’s not funny,” I whisper. I don’t know why I say it, I’m at a lack for words, thoughts, and reasoning at this point.
