will definitely get me sent back to Seattle. This will probably ruin everything. But screw it. She deserves the truth.
She does.
“Hey, Peak,” I say, my voice cracking.
She takes a step back, pressing her hand to the door. Her head tilts like she’s trying to see more of me than what’s in front of her, and then she raises her hand to her lips.
“Bats?” she says, like she can’t really believe it, and honestly, I barely can either.
“Yeah.”
“What?” There’s a little smile on her lips then, and I shouldn’t smile back but I do.
She pulls out her own phone and fires off a text, her mouth dropping open when my phone lights up in her hand. I shut my eyes.
“How are you here?”
I shrug, because I can’t tell her that. I can’t drop another bomb on her, especially not if there’s a single chance that we can get through this conversation without her hating me. I didn’t think there was, but that smile—that smile.
“Wait, are you stalking me?” she asks, crossing her arms around herself.
I hate that I did this.
“No,” I say too loud. “No,” I say a little softer, shivering slightly because of the cold rain and the March air and the mean look from the girl that I like. Shit. I do. I really like her.
I gulp the air because I can’t breathe, I can’t get a deep enough breath, and the world starts to spin, and I’m 200 percent positive that I’m going to suffocate in this moment, that this is the end, and if it is, I can’t even care.
ideserveit
“Ridley,” she says. “Bats.” And I look up, because I didn’t think that was going to be a word that I heard from her ever again. “Did you know that a cat’s nose print is unique like our fingerprints?”
“No?” I choke out. The world seems to spin a little slower as I look in her eyes, but I can’t quite trust it.
“Swear to god.”
She looks at me from under the awning, and it feels like I can maybe inhale just a little. “Who tested that theory?” I ask.
And when she laughs, it feels like breaking through the surface of the water.
“Somebody really brave.” She smiles, but then it fades. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t—” I huff and then look at the ground, shaking my head. I have no idea where to start.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asks, the hint of annoyance back in her voice. “I’ve been texting you this whole time. I even told you about . . . you.”
“I know.”
“Is this a game?” Her tone changes again. Gets harder somehow.
“No, it’s not.”
“Okay? Then why did you let me keep thinking you were two different people?”
“I’m an asshole,” I say, raising my arms and then dropping them. “I don’t know what else to say. I was scared.”
“Scared of me?”
“No, of not being able to text with you anymore. And—”
“And what?”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “But there are reasons, okay? And I will tell you, but I can’t right now. I can’t do this. I’ll—I’ll text you.”
“Uh-uh, you don’t get to run away. Not after this. This is unbelievably screwed up.”
“I know. I know! But what if you—”
“What if I what?” she asks, taking a step forward so she’s as far out as she can be under the awning without getting wet.
“I’m not good at talking to people. I’m not good at a lot of things. But when I’m texting Peak—you,” I correct myself. “When I text you, I don’t get freaked out. I can relax. I can be there for you or be funny. And if I do get overwhelmed, I can just put the phone down and come back later. I didn’t want to lose that. And I didn’t want to know.”