Hold Me Like a Breath (25 page)

I refused to think of Char. I'd left all that longing on the other side of midnight, and in this new day where sunshine turned the wall shades of pink and possibility, I wasn't letting him invade. But still, when I walked out the door of my building, I couldn't stop my eyes from skipping over to where he'd waited yesterday—

Where he was waiting today.

“So here's the thing—” Char stepped off the sidewalk, barely even glancing to see if there was a car coming, hurrying toward me at nearly a run. “I'm not a creeper, I promise. If you tell me not to, I'll never wait outside your apartment again—” He paused on the edge of the street, the toes of his gray shoes touching the curb of the sidewalk in front of me. “That sounds like a creeper sentence, doesn't it? I've been out here for an hour, and I was up pacing my hotel room all night. You'd think with all that time I'd be able to come up with a better line than that. And after … On the plane I vowed I'd be better at taking chances and going after the things I want … Not that you're a
thing
.” He clenched his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hope “smooth” wasn't on your list of desirable qualities, because I'm
not
.”

I shook my head. Nodded. Not sure what I was agreeing with or if I should be disagreeing. I covered my mouth with both hands, trapping a near sob of relief and a smile.

“You never have to see me again. I just wanted to—I don't know—see
you
. Yesterday, wandering and talking with you, I felt more like myself than I can remember. Like who I am and who I want to be had finally met. I don't know why you ran away, Maeve, but you are the best thing about this whole city. I'm sorry if that's too much … It's too much, isn't it?” He sighed and hung his head. “I'm sorry. I'll go.”

“Stay.” My word was soft—like a cotton ball dropped in the middle of his maelstrom, but it had the effect of a blanket on a fire—extinguishing his outpouring and leaving me wondering what had happened to all the oxygen on the street. We stared—measuring honesty and fear and surrender in each other's gazes.

Carter had said, “Fight to the death for the ones that matter.” Char was following my brother's advice. Would I? Should I?

“Why did you run?” he asked.

“We were saying good-bye anyway.” It was a cheat of an answer; he'd given me honesty and I couldn't bring myself to admit the truth.
Because you scare me. No, that's not it: because
I
scare myself around you
.

“For the day, not forever.” He looked at the ground, then at the roof of the buildings. Inhaled so his shoulders climbed toward his ears, then exhaled a sigh that settled them back to normal. “No, that's not quite true. I
was
pulling away. I thought I could. I wanted to see if I could … Maeve—”

“I know,” I said. Because I did. Because this guy was the only thing that numbed the hollowness left behind when my life
imploded. Because I couldn't stop thinking about him, even while unconscious. And because even standing in front of him, I could already feel the ache that would descend the moment we said our next farewell. Because seventeen years of being treated like a princess and reading gilded fairy tales hadn't prepared me for the happiness I felt when he said my name—which wasn't even really my name at all. “I
know
, Char.”

His smile felt like an embrace. His actual embrace felt like heaven. The place where his hands rested in the center of my back felt as if it had been molded just for him. I could feel all ten of his fingertips mirroring each other on either side of my spine. He pulled me to him, but not too hard—just enough that the soft fabric of his slate-blue T-shirt whispered against my cheek and I got a hint of his smell. I might have a set of fingerprint bruises, but maybe not … He was holding himself back, trying not to hug me with an eagerness that matched his voice in my ear. “Are you real?”

I wondered the same thing. Was anything about my life real anymore?

I let my hands flutter up for a quick squeeze, but when I let go, he released me instantly. It took me a moment to find my breath and manage a “good morning.”

Nothing in my life had readied me for the intoxication of casual touch. The fact that I could reach over and run a fingertip down the back of his hand. And that when I did, he'd light up and twist his palm, making his hand available for mine to hold.

I didn't. That seemed like too much.

Like greediness or self-indulgence. Or like it would overwhelm me completely, making it impossible to walk and talk or even just remember how to inhale and exhale.

It was the perfect promise of a moment.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said.

It shattered in a shiver that left my voice frosty. “No. No surprises.”

On the estate I'd lived for surprises. Just the word had made me smile. Anticipation of something that Carter, Mother, or Father had devised to amuse me was enough to make hours pass with borrowed sweetness. They'd been great about coming up with various unexpected treats. Mother left paths of rhyming riddles that ended with a handbag or new nail polish. Father just hid things and played hot/cold. Carter's surprises had been the best. They almost always involved passing through the gates.

I didn't want to be surprised now. Not just because of the memories, but because surprises didn't feel safe. Surprises meant letting someone else control my life, and that wasn't acceptable. Not even a Midwestern rancher's son. Not even for a moment.

Char may not have understood the
why
of the emotion in my voice, but he clearly heard its panic. “Sure. No surprises. No big deal.”

He stepped in front of me, held both of his hands up like he was making a vow—like we weren't standing on a filthy street being watched by curious eyes of people going about their daily routines. “I keep scaring you off. I don't mean to. Is there anything I can do or say to make you less skittish?”

“Let me lead.” It went against the relationship dynamic my parents had modeled; it went against seventeen years of obedience to others' orders. I didn't care.

“Sure,” said Char. “So, what do
you
want to do today?”

“Ever tried caramel pecan coffee?” I asked. When he grinned and shook his head, I held out my hand, held my breath.

Even bracing myself didn't stop the sensation of his fingers sliding through mine from sending shivers across my skin. Didn't stop the smiles from spreading across both our faces as he swung our entwined hands and said, “Lead the way.”

Words I'd never had directed at me.

I liked them, quite a bit.

Coffee first, which I ordered with sugar-free raspberry syrup while cursing my fake diabetes. I saw Char sneaking longing glances at the cake pops and glazed muffins. “Go ahead,” I said. “I don't mind.”

He shook his head, smiled. “No, it's fine. My sweet tooth is out of control; this is good for me.
You're
good for me.”

Next the dog park and watching the Pom-hund couple cuddle like I'd missed weeks of furious courtship instead of just a few days.

Their happiness at seeing me: “So you're not just a matchmaking fairy godmother! We were worried you'd disappeared.”

Their grinning welcomes to Char: “He'd better be a dog person.”

And the way he didn't flinch at the level of commitment that implied. Instead, he raised the hand he hadn't let go of yet—not through ordering coffee, paying for it, adding his milk and sugar,
or walking through the streets—and brushed the back of my fingers across his lips. “I'm allergic to cats, but anything else: dogs, fish, turtles, hermit crabs, these pet pigs I saw a documentary on once—they're really smart. Pretty much any other animal is fine with me.”

“No worries. There are no cats, or any other animals, in the apartment,” I said. But more and more, I kept imagining
him
in there. In my life as more than a temporary injection of bliss. As a permanent fixture. As someone who knew me. Someone I could confide in, talk to. Someone who understood.

He made me feel alive—reminded me that despite the fact I'd had a funeral and had a gravestone beside my parents' and Carter's, I
was
alive. And that I should spend the time I had
living
, not cowering and waiting. Carter had said as much:
Fight to the death for the ones that matter
. My grandfather's version had been,
When you see an opportunity, take it!

These past few days were my nod of agreement; I just wished I could hear Carter say, “I'm proud of you.”

Char and I spent the day in conversation, in another walk, like a lazy game of Ping-Pong, drifting back and forth down streets. Finally, we parted in front of my building after dinner.

We'd exchanged numbers, me fumbling with how to locate mine or enter his, especially after he commented, “That's a different phone.”

“I, um, dropped the other one. In water. In the sink. I was doing dishes. And watching TV. And talking on the phone with my aunt. She told a joke and I laughed. The phone slipped and
whoops
.”

Liars always included too many details; Al Ward had taught me that. I hoped no one had told Char.

He just smiled. “Is the lesson you shouldn't multitask or I shouldn't tell you jokes?”

“I guess we'll have to try both and see.”

“Good night.”

Upstairs in the apartment, I frowned at the note for Garrett that still sat on the coffee table. Each time I saw it my chest tightened and I froze for a moment—trying to remember what it felt like when
his
eyes had made me flush and stammer, how I used to feel safe and proud with him by my side. Out of habit I poked the note with the tip of one finger. I'd spent days nudging it this way and that, as if its angle would make a difference. Now I picked it up and crumpled it in my fist. He wasn't coming. And maybe that was a relief. Maybe he'd be a cruel reminder of my life before. Seeing him would shatter my current charade and be a painful reality check.

I dropped the note in the bathroom trash. Scowled at the fading bruises I saw in the mirror as I changed into my pajamas—try as I might, there were aspects of my old life I couldn't escape.

My phone rang as I was brushing my teeth. “Miss me already?” I teased.

“I did.” Char stated it as a simple fact, unashamed, unembellished.

I climbed into bed and pressed my giggle into a pillow before I took a deep breath and said, “So, tell me about your day.”

“Not going to lie, it was kind of surreal. I spent it with the most gorgeous girl I've ever met and she's not bored with me yet.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “She'd walk the whole city as long as you were next to her.”

“Likewise. Though I need to remember to wear different shoes tomorrow, because
ow
, blisters.”

I quickly learned I didn't
want
to multitask when his was the voice in my ear. I was too busy collecting his words and cheesy jokes, weaving them into a web of facts and connections that bound us together.

“Fears,” Char challenged around midnight. “Tell me one from your childhood and one from now.”

I rolled over onto my stomach and propped the phone on a pillow. “As a child? I was terrified of dragons.”

“Wait, there's a dragon in
Sleeping Beauty
! I, um, might have watched it last night.”

“Really? And, yes, my fear and that movie were definitely related. My brother and his best friend used to build these elaborate ‘dragon traps' in my closet and in the hall outside my room. The problem was I couldn't leave my room or get dressed in the morning until they came along and unassembled them.”

Char burst into laughter and the sound made me brave enough to add, “And now, my big fear is being useless.”

“I don't know what you mean. Can you explain?”

“Like, no one expecting anything of me. Never achieving anything that matters. I want to matter.” These were the type of things I could only whisper at the darkened ceiling, never say to his face.

“You matter to me,” he said softly.

“Thanks.” I flushed from his words, though that wasn't what I meant. “Now tell me yours.”

“As a kid? Bullies. I was a nerd in a community that wasn't all that nerd-friendly.”

“You, a nerd?” I teased. “This coming from the guy who
just spent twenty minutes explaining how caffeine affects the nervous system, and how decaf coffee isn't really caffeine-free? I'm shocked.”

“Sorry,” he said. “You were probably bored. You've got to just tell me to shut up.”

“I wasn't bored at all. I love your nerdiness—”

I dropped the phone on my bed and squeezed my eyes shut. Too much, too soon. I hadn't meant to imply anything so serious. Still wincing, I picked the phone back up.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Um, what's your
now
fear?” I asked, wanting to put so much distance between myself and that accidental four-letter word.

“I guess … that I'll change without realizing it. Wake up one morning and be the person my dad wants me to be instead of who I want. I feel like I keep getting pushed farther down that road, and there's got to be a point of no return, right?”

“I hope not.” I'd been thinking about that idea lately, knowing full well I was getting dangerously close to a point of no return with Char, a place at which it would hurt so much to have to let him go … even though I knew I couldn't keep him.

We spent the whole night talking, taking turns drifting off to sleep, then startling awake with “Don't hang up, I'm still here.”

It was the first night I hadn't cried myself to sleep. The first I hadn't crashed from one nightmare to the next.