His hands eased lower, encircling my waist. I’m not particularly small, but I felt petite and fragile right then, because I knew in that moment that he had the power to break me. To utterly and sweetly destroy me.
“Angie,” he said and began to turn me in his arms. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. But before I could shift—before I could even absorb the possibility that he was going to kiss me—the moment shattered, torn apart by the high-pitched chirp of my cell phone.
He drew his hands away, and as he did, I heard another sound. A whimper.
I’m pretty sure it came from me.
I opened my eyes just in time to see Evan’s face shift into a stony, unreadable expression. I didn’t know what it looked like before, but I imagined there’d been lust in his eyes.
I felt something tight squeeze at my heart, because we’d just lost this moment. And I knew damn well that we could never, ever get it back.
“You should answer it,” he said.
“What?”
He glanced down to the tiny purse that I’d decided to carry tonight only because I had no pocket for my phone.
“Oh.” I’d already forgotten. “It’s a text.” I fumbled to retrieve it, then glanced at the display.
“Kevin?”
“Flynn,” I said quickly, not wanting to bring Kevin anywhere near this conversation. “Remember? The boy who lived down the street from Uncle Jahn in Kenilworth.”
“Probably not so much a boy anymore,” Evan said, in a tone that made the gooey feminine side of me shimmy with joy.
“No,” I said casually. “Not so much.”
I kept my focus on his face, and for a moment I thought that he was going to reach out for me. That he was going to pull me to him and press his lips to mine, and send us both soaring past that damn glass partition.
But the moment passed, and he turned away to look out over the darkened lake.
For a moment, we stood in silence. Then he spoke, low and steady. “I think about jumping, too.”
“Suicidal?” I quipped.
“No.” He turned back to me, and what I saw on his face wasn’t heat or lust but bald determination. “Arrogant.”
My brows puckered with confusion.
“I’m arrogant enough to think I can control my own fall,” he clarified.
“But you can’t,” I said, thinking of my sister. Of my life. Of my uncle. “Nobody can.”
His grin was wide, achingly sexy, and desperately sad. He reached out, then lightly stroked my cheek. “Watch me.”
I did, but only in the sense that I watched him leave. I stayed there, alone on the patio. Just me and my confusion and mortification. Not to mention two dozen people I barely knew. All of us on this Chicago rooftop, hurtling through space and time and the universe.
I stared after him, not moving. Not really even thinking. Behind me, the fireworks over the Navy Pier began to explode and suddenly the night sky was alive with color. I barely noticed. The only color I saw was Evan, his hue standing out against the backdrop of gray that had consumed me.
It took a full five minutes before I realized that I was still holding my phone.
I pulled up the message and, despite my confusion, I smiled.
Just landed. You okay?
I typed my answer—Surviving, I think—then hesitated. I wanted to edit it before hitting send. To tell Flynn about what just happened with Evan, whom he’s heard about ad nauseam since we were both sixteen. About how I was seeing Jahn’s ghost around every corner. About how much I hated death and funerals and I wished that I were a runner because then I could shove my feet into some Nikes and just go.
I didn’t type any of that, though. Instead, I just hit send.
I’ll be there in 10.
I couldn’t help but smile. He really did know me well.
It’s okay. People leaving.
Don’t want you alone.
Kevin’s taking me home w/ him.
There was a pause before the next text came through, and I understood why. I’ve spent far too many nights boring him with my rants about how Kevin is empirically perfect and I’m an idiot to even contemplate blowing him off.