Her confession hits unexpectedly hard. I turn my head tolook at her, taking in the slight furrow between her brows and how her mouth curves down in a soft frown.
“Why?” I ask, puzzled. “After everything I?—”
“They were like second parents to me,” she cuts in simply. “And I thought... I don’t know. I guess I thought they’d want to know you were okay. So whenever Logan got a call or email from you, I’d come and tell them what he told me.”
My throat tightens at the thought of a pre-teen Lizzy sitting here alone, talking to my dead parents about me, making my throat ache with a combination of gratitude and shame.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I know.” Then the smirk comes. “At first, I would rant and rave about what you did. About how hurt I was.”
“You tattled on me to my dead parents?”
A smile breaks out across her face as she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, basking in the sun.
Damn,she’s beautiful.
“I guess you could call it that.” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “It was before I had any sort of therapy. It helped.”
“Your parents were good people,” she adds. “They didn’t deserve what happened to them.”
I swallow hard as the names etched in stone blur before my eyes. “No, they didn’t.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes. It feels right—her being here with me—almost like a piece that’s been missing clicking back into place.
“I forgot what day it was,” I say quietly, shame flowing through my veins again. “What kind of person does that make me?”
She turns to face me. “Human. Grief isn’t linear. Sometimes the only way to survive is to forget for a little while.”
“Is that what you did with me?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Try to forget?”
Her eyes widen slightly before she looks away. “I tried. Didn’t work very well. Took a long time before I didn’t think about you every day.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at her admission. “I never forgot about you.”
“You just refused to speak to me,” she says, but there’s no bite to her words.
“I was scared,” I admit. “Scared of how much it would hurt to hear your voice, knowing I couldn’t see you. Scared you’d moved on. Scared you hadn’t.”
“I understand that now.”
Relief washes over me, and suddenly I’m ready to go. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
We both stand at the same time, turning to face each other. My heart clenches as I look into her eyes.
She’s so close I can see the flecks of gold speckled in green, smell the faint scent of her jasmine shampoo. My gaze drops to her lips—those full, perfect lips I’ve been dreaming about every night for as long as I can remember. The urge to kiss her, to pull her against me and show her everything I’ve been feeling is so overwhelming, it’s damn near excruciating.
I shouldn’t. Not next to my parents’ graves. Not with my emotions running sky high.
But before I can make a hasty retreat, Lizzy lunges forward. Wrapping her arms tightly around my waist, she presses her face against me, her warmth seeping through my shirt.
“I might still be a little pissed at you,” she mumbles against my chest, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
My breath catches in my throat as I wrap my arms aroundher, squeezing her close as I rest my chin on top of her head, breathing her in.
“I know,” I whisper into her hair.
