Page 204 of The Storm

He charges my phone when I fall asleep on the couch after a long day.

The spare toothbrush he gave me is suddenly next to his in the cup on the counter, instead of in the drawer under the sink.

The granola bars I used to like are in the glove compartment of his car, Tylenol in his first aid kit, even though I know for a fact that he’s allergic to acetaminophen.

He always leaves me the left side of the bed.

And he kisses me when he passes by while I’m on my laptop on the couch.

He packs my effing lunch, and oh my fucking God, what the fuck is happening and how do I stop this? Because I don’t know if he even realizes he’s doing all those things, and I for fuckingsure can’t get used to them because… because… because what if it ends?

I don’t know if I can survive breaking a second time.

SIXTY-ONE

INDY

It’s so earlythat the sun is still just a faint glow on the horizon when Nick drags me to the subway after him.

“Where are we going?” I ask again when we step onto the train. There are very few people out and about this early in the morning, and the ones who are all look half-asleep. Not Nick though. He just looks hot.

“Nicholas.” I flick his earlobe when he still doesn’t reply.

“It’s a surprise,” he says, and when I go in for another flick, he grabs my hand and holds it in his, and suddenly I can’t think about anything other than that. My hand. In his hand. And he keeps it there. He’s still holding it when he pulls me out of the subway car and when we walk up the stairs, and then we’re outside, and he’s still holding it, and what the hell is happening here?

He keeps pulling me after him, walking faster and faster until we might as well be running.

“Are we late or something?” I ask as we turn another corner.

He glances toward the horizon. “Not yet.”

“But we will be? Are you gonna tell me what for?”

We cut through the parking lot and head toward the waterfront. The air smells faintly of salt, and it’s all so familiar. The early morning. The sea.

I slow down, even though I’m not fully aware that I’m doing it yet. There’s a gut feeling. Something akin to fear.

He wouldn’t.

He would, though.

There are a set of metal storage racks near the water.

I jerk to a stop, my hand slipping from Nick’s.

He turns around and raises his brows at me.

“Blue?”

What do I say?

Don’t break me?

It’s too late to ask that. It’s also unfair to ask that, considering everything.

I force myself to move.

“What are those?” It’s a relief that I sound pretty much normal.