first, rushing up to me in her frenzied state. I’m a little proud when I smell a hint of beer on her breath. She’s always been such a straight-laced partier.
“Lucas is out back. There’s a fire pit. But it’s almost midnight so he better get his ass inside,” she says, her mouth near my ear so I can hear over the pounding club-style music. It’s an assault on the ears.
“She’s upstairs,” Hayden says, glancing up and encouraging me to follow his eyes. I look in that direction and see Abby leaning her back against the railing. She’s surrounded by people, probably waiting in line to go to the bathroom or something. I’m not sure I should be so public about this just yet.
“Two minutes,” my brother says, cupping his mouth so I can hear him. I scan the room for a clock and verify the time. It’s actually only around a minute now.
The music dies, and someone switches on a television, the volume cranked to announce the countdown for everyone in the house. My gaze again moves up the stairs in search of Abby, and this time, she’s looking down at the people gathered around me. I will her to find me, and she almost does a few times, but her gaze never completely settles on mine.
Without time to spare, I push through the crowd gathered in the living room to see the big screen mounted on June’s wall. The count is at twenty by the time I get to the steps, and I slice through people on my way up, evading a few shoves along the way.
The count hits fifteen when I’m about four steps below Abby, fourteen when she finally turns and sees me. Twelve when she weaves through the crowd, heading deeper into the dark hallway toward June’s room. It’s seven by the time I catch her, and five when my hand finds her slender wrist. By three, we’ve stumbled into June’s room, her door closed by two.
One.
“I love you,” I say, not waiting a second longer to get the words out of my heart and into her ears. It’s midnight on New Year’s Eve and I should pull her into me and kiss her senseless. But saying those words was far more important.
Her arms remain stiff at her sides, her brow pinched, and her lips quivering—trembling the way they did the first time I felt them against mine.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. It’s okay if you want me to leave. I will. I’ll leave right now, and I’ll be fine with that because I got to tell you I love you. But if there’s a chance you feel the same way, if there’s the remotest chance that your heart kicks a little when you see me, that your breath maybe dropped when I said those words, then I swear to God, Abby Cortez, you better kiss me in this new year. If I love you and you love me, I want to start this right.”
Her eyes dip to my chest, then flicker back up to my face. She’s nervous, and I’m not sure whether she’s weighing her options or looking for an easy way out. “Auld Lang Syne” blares from downstairs, and most of the party is either kissing or shouting Happy New Year while repeatedly blowing those dumb paper horns. My confidence wavers with every second that passes, though I couldn’t possibly give her a better speech than the one I somehow just delivered. My gaze dips down to the floor and I move to step to the side so she can leave.
“I love you, too,” she utters, her voice meek and shaky.
I raise my chin.
“I love you,” she says again, this time the wavering gone.
“I love you,” I say to her again, enjoying this volley of words. I take a step toward her and she does the same.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
We repeat in rapid succession as we erase the distance between us until she leaps into my arms and I catch her as her legs wrap around my waist, our mouths finding their homes against one another’s. We are a perfect fit. Our kiss is natural and explosive. Every time is like this, a rush and a comfort, a death and a birth.
“I love you,” I utter against her, my mouth suddenly unable to stop speaking these three small words. The way her mouth feels when it smiles against me is as potent as her kiss.
She kisses along my jaw