With each thundering crash, a faint mist of water tingles on my
skin. Wind bites at me, but the view of the shore, stretching for
miles in either direction, makes the elements worth braving.
Lawrence finds a somewhat smooth patch of rock near the
edge and sits. I hesitate but ultimately can’t resist sitting down
next to him. He scoots closer, smiling, and I have to fight the
impulse to nuzzle my face into his shoulder. The desire to feel
his arms around me rages through my heart. I stare out at the
horizon to keep from bursting.
“I’m facing a crossroads,” Lawrence says, also looking out
over the water. “A decision has been pushed on me, and I don’t
know what to do.”
“A decision about your career?”
“And other things…” He sighs. “My choices are to accept my
family’s plan for me or I’m kicked to the street.”
“It’s wrong,” I say, shaking my head. “They should let you
decide how you want to spend your life.”
He smiles ruefully. “I wish I lived in your time. I can’t imagine having that freedom.”
“I wish you had it. You deserve better.”
He scrapes a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I do. That’s
part of the problem. I’m willing to accept the responsibilities
that come with my life of privilege. Without my father’s money,
I’m nothing. I should be grateful that practicing law is even an
option for me, rather than, say, digging coal out of the ground,
a mile under, or breaking my back behind a plow. Is it wrong
to live the life people expect of you? To please the people who
helped make you who you are?”
I shake my head. “But you’re still entitled to your dreams.
Being rich doesn’t exclude you from that.”
“My old man thinks dreams are a waste of time. Work is the
only thing that matters.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
He sighs. “I guess not. Otherwise I wouldn’t fill notebooks
with my writing when he thinks I’m asleep.”
“You deserve to follow your dreams, Lawrence.” My eyes
sting with tears as I speak the words, knowing he’ll never get
the chance. He sets his hand beneath my chin, turning my face
to him. His intensity melts me.
“In my mind, you have come to embody those dreams,” he
says softly. “A girl from another time. Who only exists on one
windswept beach. You’re a poem, Cassandra. You’re my poem.”
He takes my hand and presses it to his chest. My heart is
pounding so hard that I can barely breathe.
“I feel like, if this is real, then my dreams can be real. If these feelings I have for you are truth, then the truth of my words is worth fighting for, and it doesn’t matter what people expect of me.”
Lawrence sets his hands on my face. His fingertips slide
gently into my hair. My ears are ringing. I shouldn’t let this
happen. But everything in me longs for it.
Lawrence’s gaze brushes over my face, tender and hungry at
once. And then he presses his lips to mine.
For a moment, there’s only the crash of surf, the clean smell
of cologne, and the burning heat of this kiss.
We part. Then, like magnets, our lips come together again. I
turn fully to him, hooking my arms around his neck. He grips
my back. Our breathing rises and joins in unison. I want more.
I want to lose myself.
But then the inevitability of Lawrence’s death seizes me.
He keeps kissing me, but I freeze. These lips, this hair, those
eyes—they’ll be gone forever in a matter of days. Less than
two weeks.
I pull away. Lawrence looks dazed. His cheeks are flushed. I
push to my feet. The truth bears down on me, oppressive and
overwhelming. I can’t breathe.
I have to tell him. He deserves to know. I would want someone to have the courage to tell me, if they knew I was about to die. I have to do the hard thing and tell him or break under the
weight of this secret.
Lawrence stands, his brow furrowed. “Cassandra? What’s
wrong?”