“You…” He shrugs. “You support me. You laugh at my goofy side. You kissed me—I know you wouldn’t kiss just anyone. You’re…”
“It’s not enough.” I clear my throat and repeat those words, louder. He looks at me incredulously, like he’s going to deny it, but I keep going. “I haven’t done enough, okay? I need to, though, I know that. I really want to make this right. What—who—do you want me to be? Because I don’t know how to do…this.” I wave at the air between us. “I don’t know how to do this and watch my papa dying and let my mom cry on my pillow and be everything to everyone—”
He catches my hand, fingers tracing mine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bee. You don’t have to be anything, anyone. You’re you, and I love you, so quit talking stupid.”
“How can you call this stupid? I’m trying to share something with you and you’re—”
“I’m not calling this stupid!” He raises his hands in exasperation.
I stand up, easing my way toward the ladder. I can’t do this right now, I think as I lower myself down, taking each rung carefully. Levi doesn’t follow me at first, but then I hear his footsteps and the clanking metal and the thump as he lands in his backyard. I’m already inside, already heading for the front door.
“Bee,” he says. “Please stop running from me.”
I whirl on him, angrily, surprised to see he’s standing only a foot behind me. “I need to stop running from you? You were the one who walked away last time.”
“I know, and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I walked away.”
“I came here expecting it to make us feel better, to give us some sort of hope that we can work this out. And why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday? I don’t understand—” It dawns on me at the last second, something I’ve been missing since yesterday, and it makes my eyes widen and my throat strangle. “You beg me for my name for months, but you won’t tell me something as simple as your birthday?”
He groans, covering his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes like he isn’t seeing me right. “Bee, they’re completely different things. I didn’t want to make it about me, okay? Your dad is sick, and we’ve both had a long couple of weeks—I didn’t want you to think you had to do anything special for me.”
His words make me sick with disgust. Of course. Of course that’s why he didn’t tell me, because he knew I was stressed, because he’s forever selfless.
I want to leave, but he’s not done. “You, on the other hand,” he continues, “are keeping a vital part of yourself from me. Why? It’s the principle, not the name. I want to know every part of you, inside and out, and you won’t give it to me. I love you.”
I feel every word, every syllable, each one stopping my heart, slowly shelling me. I’m trying not to curl up, but I feel every inch of me shriveling, retreating.
He must see that I want to leave because he grabs me and pulls me into a hug. I can’t resist (despite my persisting fears), letting my arms snake around his waist, my ear pressed to his chest so I can hear his heart beating. I’m crying again.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say, hiccupping.
“I know. That’s okay. I should have been there more, asked more, before it got to this. I’m sorry.”
He should have been there more? I cry harder, because now he’s apologizing for things he never did. “Please, Levi. Stop.” I place a hand on his chest and use it to put space between us. “I think I just need to go home.”
Levi looks at me like he can’t figure out if he wants to let me go. But then he nods at the last second. “Okay. I understand.”
He kisses me without warning, and it’s everything I want and not enough—all at once. I gasp a little bit on his mouth, kissing him hard and quick. Our lips drift apart and I’m saying it again—I just need to go home—but I haven’t had enough of him. That kiss lingers and blurs my vision, until his eyes and hair are out of focus, and all I can see are his lips and his chin and his nose, and I want to kiss every inch of him.
He looks at me, confused, as if waiting for me to actually turn around and leave. But I can’t go now. I lift my fingers to trace his bottom lip, which pouts out at me until I replace my fingers with my own lips. He doesn’t stop me, doesn’t question me, so I pull his head down. His kiss is warm and all-consuming. It becomes me.
“Levi,” I breathe.
Then I’m pushing him backward, down the hall, where his bedroom door is slightly ajar. (Suzie’s here, I think, and then I don’t think at all.) He nudges it open with his foot, and then closes it with a fumbling hand and corners me with my back against it.
I wrap my hands around his neck, first with my thumbs brushing the skin around his ears, then his hairline. One hand slides into his hair, the other drifting past the hem of his shirt, skin on skin. His back is warm, strong.
But I am not the only one exploring. His long fingers have escaped the boundary of my shirt and now touch my skin, at first so softly that it’s like a breeze. Then his grip tightens, my shirt falling over his hands on either side. He lingers on the skin at my waist, then travels upward, causing air to whoosh out of my lungs. His nails dig into my ribcage, like he’s desperate to go higher but doesn’t know if he should.
He’s never touched me like his—he’s always been good, always held me gently. Knowing this winds me up, suddenly and forcefully. I nudge him backward, not stopping until he’s hit the bed, and even then we don’t stop, because he’s sitting and pulling me down. I roll onto my back, still kissing him, and let him take control. When he does, he moves from my lips to my chin to my neck, where his teeth graze my skin and his lips are so soft and his breath is hot.
I nudge him until his mouth is on mine again and gingerly slip my hands under his shirt. (New territory! my mind screams. Forbiddenforbiddenforbidden, it warns.) My fingers travel across the expanse of his back, marveling at every tense muscle, every ridge and smooth plane. I linger over a mole beneath his right shoulder blade, and then the tiny scar I find at the waistband of his jeans. He kisses me harder in response, as if I’ve undone him, just as he’s undone me, over and over and over again.
Finally, I think, sighing. I wonder how I could have lived without him, how I could have fought with him or held back at all, because the way we are now is perfect and I never want to go back, never. I slip my hands further up and grab the hem of his shirt and start to tug, wanting it off.
Levi stills, retreating some, lips paused. He’s poised above me, our noses touching, his eyes still closed—and then he sighs heavily. He lowers his head so he can kiss my collar bone, but it’s chaste and light and leaves everything wanting.
“What—” His voice breaks with a heavy breath. “—are we doing?” he asks. He shakes. His breath and heart and arms and voice. My Levi, my strong, steady fortress: he trembles.
The words tumble through the fog, tripping the alarm in my brain, making me gasp with the understanding of where we’re headed. “Oh, my God.”