Chapter 25
Lennon
A smooth voice finds me in the dark, wrenching me from a dead sleep. “Lennon.”
“Huh?” I say loudly. “What’s happening?”
I reach around on my nightstand, instinctively more than intentionally, trying to find my phone, as though the device will shed some light as to why I’ve been woken in the middle of the night.
Before I’m successful in my quest, my lamp flicks on, and glassy shades of blue paint pictures all over Connor.
“The fuck?” I splutter. He’s in my room, standing next to my bed, dressed, and looking pleased with himself.
“Told you I’d wake you for the sunrise,” he says matter-of-factly.
It’s true. He told me several times over the past week and a half, since I moved in, that this would happen. But I told him just as many times that it wouldn’t.
“Come on,” he says, tapping my shoulder just hard enough to rock me from side to side. “It’s gonna be a good one. You don’t want to miss it.”
“If I’ve ever been sure of one thing in my life,” I mutter, “it’s that I do want to miss this fucking sunrise.”
A husk spins low in his throat. He’s close to me. Really close. Leaning over me as I lie nearly naked in bed. “Are you up, or do you need more encouragement? Either way is fine with me.”
“Fuck no.” I’m not even sure what kind of encouragement he’s talking about, but I am sure I want no part of it. “No encouragement.”
I roll out of bed, muttering about what a dumbass he is. He hums happily and tells me how much I’m going to enjoy the sunrise.
I stand and cast my gaze in Connor’s direction. I’m wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and I half expect him to be looking. I ready myself to feel whatever it is I’m going to feel about that. Discomfort, most likely. That’s what I used to feel when Havi checked me out when I wasn’t dressed.
To my surprise, he’s not looking. He has his head turned away from me and both hands buried in his pockets.
It’s…fucking weird.
I’m right here, and I know he likes how I look. He’s told me numerous times that I’m attractive. I don’t have a shirt on, and I’m showing a fuck ton of skin, so why isn’t he looking?
Not that I want him to or anything. I don’t.
Why would I?
No. Of course I don’t want him to look, but I do think he should. Not a lot, just like a little bit. Just a quick flick of his eyes. Just a very slight stutter before he looks away. It’s normal for people to do that, that’s all.
I guess Connor isn’t a normal person because he doesn’t look until I’m fully dressed. Not even when I make a point of asking him how he slept to see if that draws his eye to me.
“Ready?” he says.
That’s debatable. I’m wearing warm-ups, a hoodie with no T-shirt under it, and Docs with no socks. I don’t need a mirror to tell me what my hair looks like. I can tell by the dimple in Connor’s cheek that he’s trying not to laugh at the state of me.
As he leads me past the kitchen, he grabs an army-green thermos and a couple of mugs.
“Seriously, Grandpa,” I say. “A thermos? What are you, seventy-nine?”
“I’ll have you know this is a vintage thermos, and a very important piece.” His mouth tics at one corner and his eyes flicker with humor.
“Bullshit.” It’s not vintage. It’s new. I saw him buying it in a camping goods store a few months ago.
It was one of the first times I followed him.
It was before he started back at college after his surgery, when he was still recovering at home.
My heart thudded so hard the entire time I was in the store that I thought about driving myself to the ER on the way home.
“You’re going to love it, you’ll see. Enjoying a coffee from a thermos is a lost art.”
“Coffee from a thermos is guaranteed to burn your mouth. There’s no other possible outcome.”
“Bad experience road tripping with your parents as a kid?” he fires back.
“Bad experience road tripping with my grandparents,” I admit.
My gran and grandpa used to take Caroline and me to Cold Springs for a couple of weeks every summer.
It was a long trip, and they broke it up by stopping regularly.
My gran served us sandwiches and coffee, even though my mom would have been appalled to learn that her mother was routinely plying us with caffeine.
“Ah, well, don’t worry, bud. I got you. This’ll be completely different.”
I follow him, taking the elevator and then a flight of stairs to the roof. He pushes a heavy metal door open and lets it slam shut behind us. He gestures to a weather-beaten bench placed against a wall that faces east.
The bench has Connor stamped all over it. It’s made of timber that’s been painted many times over. Seafoam green the last time, but beneath that, I see layers of baby pink and black. It’s small and low. Meant for one big person, or two small ones, at most.
Connor sits down and scooches over, patting the space next to him, so I’m in no doubt he expects me to sit beside him. He sets the mugs down between his feet and opens the thermos. A thread of steam wafts up as he pours, meandering for a few seconds before disappearing into the morning.
There’s a railing in front of us. Not so high that it would be impossible to climb over, but definitely high enough that it wouldn’t be an accident if you fell over it.
The palings are narrow, thin circular posts that don’t obscure the view all that much.
There are buildings behind them. Apartment buildings mainly, but some houses too.
In the distance, streetlights flicker and most windows are black.
That’s because it’s six a.m. on a Saturday morning. Most people are fast asleep with no intention of rising for hours. They’re enjoying sleeping in, as they should. It’s the fucking weekend.
Connor screws the lid onto the thermos and holds out a mug to me. I take it and raise it to my lips, blowing over it gently. My knees are pretty much at my ears from the bench being so low, and one of my ass cheeks is hanging off it.
“It’s fine. I put plenty of milk in it,” he says.
“Ah-ha!” I turn to him with a look. “So you have burned your mouth on thermos coffee before. Admit it.”
“It happened one time.” His bottom lip tics. It’s a playful fib, and I kind of like that I know that about him.
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“We wait.”
I sip my coffee and try to quiet my mind. My thoughts are racing. Connor is sitting next to me, his shoulder touching mine. His leg touching my leg. He’s leaning back against the wall, chin raised slightly as he searches the horizon for magic only he can see.
He blinks slowly, and from this angle, his eyes look translucent. See-through like glass. He breathes slowly too. Inhaling for several long seconds, holding it for four, and releasing it even slower.
I watch, holding my breath as he does it. My lungs burn, and the next time he exhales, I do too. I mistime it. I must. I must have breathed out when I was meant to breathe in because I start spluttering and coughing.
I take a big sip of coffee and force it down.
Without taking his eyes off the horizon, Connor reaches behind me and pats my back gently. His hand is warm. Big and heavier than I thought it would be. He leaves it on my back for a fraction of a second longer than strictly required.
To my surprise, I find I don’t mind it.
I’m not saying I like it. I’m just saying that when he moves it, I feel it. A handprint that’s heated from when he touched me. It takes a while to cool when he moves it.
As the minutes tick by, Earth rotates on its axis. Before us, the night sky changes. Dusty hues infiltrate a curtain of black. A soft, smoky gray that gradually lightens.
Connor looks straight ahead.
I look at Connor.
Brand-new wisps of sunlight highlight his profile, finding the tiny hairs on his cheekbones and making them glow.
His eyes are at half-mast. Lids heavy with contentment.
His breathing is even. Slow and considered.
He receives the air he breathes in as though it’s a benediction.
With gratitude and presence. He expels it the same way.
The light hitting him slowly changes. Cool hues warm up as they outline his profile.
I feel the solid wall of him against my right shoulder and thigh. He’s steady. Hard and strong in ways that confuse me.
Without meaning to, I let myself lean against him.
He doesn’t flinch or move. He doesn’t react at all, except to stay exactly where he is. Where I need him to be.
When I look back at the horizon, dusty color has morphed. It’s taken on a life of its own. Dawn has raised her head. Arms outstretched as she breathes life into the day. Vivid yellow and orange splashes fan out, splintering in long lines that paint possibility all over the sky.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve seen the sunrise. Years, most likely. Not since I was nineteen or twenty, coming home from a night out so late that it was early. I don’t remember it being like this. I don’t remember it being so quiet. So peaceful.
I don’t remember feeling this centered by it. Like a great, fiery ball of hydrogen and helium is the anchor, the reason, the answer I’ve been searching for.
Before my eyes, low-hanging clouds light up, broad smudges of hot pink and soft purple. A golden orb forms a halo around the sun as it inches its way into the sky, eventually becoming bright enough to blind me.
I close my eyes and let it shine on me.
Connor doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t move until I open them.
I look straight into a swirl of sea green and sky blue that is so captivating my breath sticks in my throat.
“So, what do you think? Good, right?” I almost hate the way he smiles when he says it. All-knowing, and kind, and supportive, and shit.
Almost, not quite.
“It was”—I mean to say something snarky at worst, mildly funny at best. I don’t, though, because when I speak, my voice cracks, and to my dismay, I hear myself say—“the best.”