35. Alice
35
Alice
W e’re back at the Echo Ridge Apartment building—where we always are. Not exactly what I had in mind, staring out the window at the fireworks.
But when we enter the elevator, Will doesn’t hit the sixth floor like normal. No, he pushes the silver button above the six—the one marked with a capital R.
“Where are we going?” I say, hugging our fast food to my chest.
“The rooftop,” he says.
“Ah.” I break out into a grin. I hadn’t thought of the roof. “Nice.”
The doors open to a small hall, a doorway, and then—night air. The navy sky spills overhead with spears of green in view, mountains, and treetops. The roof is cement and empty beside smokestacks and dust—and besides the mattress and bedding lying in the center of the space.
I sputter a small disbelieving laugh. “How long have you been planning this?”
He lifts one shoulder, staring at the cushions with me. “Since Billy announced the party.”
I hold our bag of food with one hand and cover my mouth with the other. I press my fingers to my lips, stifling my giggles terribly.
We sit cross-legged on the mattress overflowing with blankets and pillows—though the evening temperature is mild, so I don’t need a blanket yet. We eat and talk, waiting for the show that will start in less than one hour.
With our food disappeared, Will lies back, his head on a pillow and his arm outstretched, inviting me to lie next to him.
I exhale an overanxious breath and move myself beside him. Will wraps his arm around me and we peer up at the sky. His warm lips press to my temple. “Do you think you’ll ever become a vet?”
“No. I’m happy in marketing.”
“Because you could, you know?”
“I know.” I search the stars, our voices low in the quiet of the night. “I don’t miss the life I might have had. I’m happy right where I am. Without that course change, I wouldn’t be here. With you.”
He presses another kiss to my head.
“Hey,” I say, peering up at him. “You weren’t a forward, were you?”
He smirks, not quite understanding my meaning.
“You missed the goal.” I trace an X over my lips.
With one arm beneath my head and back, he drapes the other over my waist, turning his body until he faces me, until his breath mingles with mine. “I love when you talk soccer.”
I nip at his bottom lip, teasing him until he holds me close and kisses me thoroughly.
The first firework shoots off in the sky, and I pull away from him. He is joy in its sweetest form.
“You’re awfully good at that,” I say, pecking his lips once more.
Will laughs, his warm breath tickling my cheek. The sky lights up above us. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says.
We peer up at the night sky, watching the show while wrapped in each other’s embrace.
“How many girls have you wooed with a rooftop picnic, Will Henley?”
His chest rumbles with laughter beneath my touch. “Counting you—let’s see, one.”
“Really?” I say, peeking up at him.
“Really.”
“But you’ve had significant others.” I suddenly need to know the entirety of Will’s life story. It doesn’t matter if he’s had a million girlfriends—but I want to know just the same.
“I have. You?”
“Not many. Mostly high school. One after.” I splay my fingers through the ruffles on Will’s shirt. “I didn’t meet a lot of people in person after high school. But you’ve traveled with Billy. You’ve worked for him?—”
“Forever,” he says, filling in that blank with a very vague answer.
“And none of those relationships worked out because…”
“Because they weren’t right. Because I always picked the wrong person. Because you were right, Alice: I have trust issues.”
My brow cinches. “I didn’t say you had trust issues. I said Billy did.”
His head bobbles in two small shakes. “Right. That’s right. Well, apparently, I do as well. Too many people are happy to use you for what you have rather than love you for who you are.”
I ask Will question after question. He tells me that, sadly, Zoe is probably his best friend—his words, not mine. He says working for Billy doesn’t give him a lot of time for friends, but that Zoe’s been loyal and good to him and Billy.
“And no siblings?” I ask, though I know the answer.
“None.”
“And your parents have been gone since?—”
“Eighteen years—” Will yawns and pulls me closer. “Since I was twelve.”
“Twelve.” I swallow and peer up at the quieting sky. Our show is over, but I’m comfortable in my Will Henley blanket. Twelve … Just like Billy. Did they meet in some kind of childhood grief support group?
“Who raised you?”
He clears his throat. His eyes skirt mine like this is hard for him. “My grandmother tried.”
This sounds familiar. Did I already ask this question?
Will and I have talked about so many things—it’s possible. But I feel like I can see the words in my head, not hear them. It makes no sense. I’m keeping track of all he’s told me, but I still feel like I’m missing something.