Page 82 of Roses & Ruin

I’d be colder if I weren’t fully dressed, shoes, scarf, and woolen hat included, sitting in an armchair in front of the roaring fireplace. It also helps that my new little shadow is curled up on my lap, dozy and sleepy, with a belly full of boiled chicken.

Slowly, as not to disturb the kitten, I angle my armchair to face Hayden where he stands just outside the open French doors.

“Yup. Any guesses?” I say, smiling.

Hayden’s not looking at me. His eyes won’t stay still. “Tell me.”

“Winston II,” I say. Hayden blinks out at the ocean, then turns to me. “But we can just call him Winston.”

“Oh” is all Hayden says. His face crumples a little, and I gather Winston to my chest, who, in that sleepy kitten way, hardly stirs. I join Hayden on the balcony, shivering at the blast of snowy wind.

I’m gonna make it. It’ll be different, I want to say. But we only have one hour left before midnight strikes and I’m nineteen or dead. I don’t want to waste time saying things to him that feel empty and desperate.

“I think I want to have sex in a graveyard,” I say. “Like all-the-way sex.” Hayden’s head jerks back like I’ve just flicked ice down his collar. He turns from his millionth scan of the perimeter to shoot me a bemused look.

“O…kay? I mean, yeah, of course.” A moment of heat passes over his eyes. “Not that we didn’t give it a decent go already.”

“And I’d really like to visit Florence with you. And Disney World. Do you like roller coasters? Does Delia?” I can feel my throat starting to ache from the effort to hold back tears.

“I…She loves EPCOT, but, Rose—”

I drop my eyes down to Winston’s little black nose. I press a kiss to his miniature forehead.

“It’s usually, like, in the high sixties on Christmas in Irvine—can we go somewhere very cold for the holiday break? Maybe take my parents and Delia? I just…I want to sit on the carpet in front of a fire on Christmas Day while Winston makes a mess of the torn wrapping paper and Mom and Dad teach you and Delia how to play gin rummy.”

“Delia and I know how to play gin rummy. We were there when it was invented,” he says dryly.

“Great,” I say, swallowing hard. “That’s fantastic. We’ll— Can we have a tournament? My parents would like that. I…” I bite my bottom lip. I’m quiet a long moment. “You’d think I’d be used to this. But knowing the future and all the terrible ways in which it might arrive only makes it worse.”

Hayden’s eyes flicker with something like agony, and he slips a tight arm around me.

Winston stretches in my arms, his little claws peeking out and tucking back between his toes, and he buries his face between his paws.

“Just in case…” I begin.

“Nope.”

“But on the slim chance I…”

“Rose,” he warns.

“Buy him the good wet food,” I say firmly. “Promise, Hayden.” With a deep, pained exhale, Hayden drops his eyes to the kitten in my arms. His jaw works a moment before he shakes his head.

“Goddammit, Rose.”

Somehow, I know that’s a yes.

Before we know it, there are only five minutes left until midnight. Time stretches, the excruciating pain of the precipice. I barely feel the icicle-sharp wind, the snow clumping at my lashes and in my nose. I can’t feel Hayden’s hand pulling me painfully tight to his hip, the little purring snores of Winston against my chest.

I can barely breathe through the terror and nausea in my stomach.

One minute left.

“Hayden,” I choke.

“I know.” His voice sounds inhuman. Scared. I close my eyes, start counting, trying to keep it slow.

I reach sixty, and nothing happens. I hold my breath, keep my eyes closed, never daring to hope. I start over, count up from zero.