“It’s not,” I said hoarsely. “Nothing about this is okay.”
Poppy’s eyes were shining, but no tears fell. Instead, she tipped my face up, one finger under my chin, and she stroked down my wet cheek with another. I watched, not breathing, as a small smile began tugging on her lips.
My stomach flipped, the first sensation I had felt in my body since the numbness that followed her revelation had overtaken me.
“There you are,” she said, so quietly I almost missed it. “My Rune.”
My heart stopped beating.
Her face melted into pure happiness as she pushed the hair off my forehead and ran her fingertip down my nose and along the edge of my jaw. I stayed completely still, trying to commit this moment to memory—a photo in my mind. Her hands on my face. That look of happiness, that light shining from within.
“I used to wonder what you looked like, older. I wondered if you had cut your hair. I wondered if you had grown taller, changed in size. I wondered if your eyes had stayed the same.” The side of her lip twitched. “I wondered if you had grown more handsome, which seemed impossible to me.” Her smile fell. “And I see you have. When I saw you in the hallway last week, I couldn’t believe you were there, standing in front of me, more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.” She pulled playfully on my hair. “With your bright blond hair longer still. Your eyes as vibrant a blue as they’d ever been. And so tall and broad.” Poppy’s eyes met mine, and she said softly, “My Viking.”
My eyes closed as I tried to chase away the lump in my throat. When I opened them, Poppy was watching me like she always did—in complete adoration.
Rising higher on my knees, I leaned closer, seeing Poppy’s eyes soften as I pressed my forehead to hers, as carefully as if she were a china doll. As soon as our skin touched, I drew in a long breath, and whispered, “Poppymin.”
This time it was Poppy’s tears that fell to her lap. I pushed my hand into her hair and held her close. “Don’t cry, Poppymin. I can’t stand to see your tears.”
“You mistake their meaning,” she whispered in return.
I moved my head back slightly, searching her eyes. Poppy’s gaze met mine and she smiled. I could see the contentment on her pretty face as she explained, “I never thought I would hear you say that word to me again.” She swallowed hard. “I never thought I would feel you this close to me again. I never dreamed I would feel this again.”
“Feel what?” I asked.
“This,” she said and brought my hand to her chest. Right over her heart. It was racing. I stilled, feeling something in my own chest stirring back to life, and she said, “I never thought I’d ever feel fully whole again.” A tear fell from her eye and onto my hand, splashing on my skin. “I never thought I’d regain half my heart before I…” She trailed off, but we both knew what she meant. Her smile dropped and her gaze bored through to my own. “Poppy and Rune. Two halves of the same whole. Reunited at last. When it matters most.”
“Poppy…,” I said, but couldn’t fend off the whip of pain cracking deep inside.
Poppy blinked, then blinked again, until all her tears were gone. She stared at me, her head dropping to one side, like she was working out a difficult puzzle.
“Poppy,” I said, my voice husky and coarse. “Let me stay awhile. I can’t … I can’t … I don’t know what to do…”
Poppy’s warm palm landed gently on my cheek. “There’s nothing to do, Rune. Nothing to do but weather the storm.”
My words became trapped in my throat and I closed my eyes. When they opened again, she was watching me.
“I’m not scared,” she assured me confidently, and I could see that she meant it. One hundred percent meant it. My Poppy. Tiny in size but filled with courage and light.
I had never been more proud to love her than I was at that moment.
My attention dropped to her bed—a bed that was bigger than the one she had had two years ago. She seemed too small for the large mattress. As she sat in the center, she looked like a little girl.
Clearly seeing me looking at the bed, Poppy shuffled back. I could detect an edge of wariness in her expression, and I couldn’t blame her. I knew I was not the boy she waved goodbye to two years ago. I was changed.
I wasn’t sure I could be her Rune ever again.
Poppy swallowed, and after a moment’s hesitation, she patted the mattress beside her. My heart raced. She was letting me stay. After everything. After everything I’d done since I returned, she was letting me stay.
Making to stand up, my legs felt unsteady. The tears had stained my cheeks, grated my throat to soreness, and the grief, the surreal revelation about the pain of Poppy’s illness … it had left a residual numbness in my body. Every inch of me broken, patched back up with Band-Aids—Band-Aids over open wounds.
Temporary.
Futile.
Useless.