Chapter 33
My Always
Wyatt
It’s been two days. Camila and I left the B this is great material for the end-of-the-year speech.”
Out of the corner of my eye I can see that Camila is just as confused as I am. But then someone picks up the camera.
I gasp when I realize what kind of video this is.
And then it comes. A punch to my solar plexus, just like that.
Even though no one has touched me, and there’s no one here except my sister, it hurts so much that I choke.
I struggle to catch my breath as I’m catapulted through time.
Really, it’s a simple formula: today minus eight equals then equals shit.
Seeing fifteen-year-old me is a shock. I watch myself take the microphone from the commentator and glide across the ice in my green and white jersey.
I know what’s next. That moment is forever etched in my brain.
The spectators in the stands are as quiet as mice, and I remember the charge to the air.
Suddenly my mischievous face appears on the square screen above my head where the game is normally shown, and I push up my visor with a self-confident grin.
“That was the goal, Moore.” Then a quick laugh. “So, you gonna go out with me?”
My teenage voice is so different. And I’m not talking about the shortness of breath from the game.
No. It’s the carefree sound, the relaxed tone, as if nothing in life was causing me any problems—there was no pressure on my shoulders, no worries in my head.
As if everything was so easy. Realizing this, my hair stands up all over my body.
What’s happened to me? I hardly recognize the boy on the ice laughing so self-confidently, wiping the sweat from his right cheekbone with the ball of his hand.
Aria is superimposed. Her heart-shaped face appears on the screens in the stadium.
She’s painted a twelve under her right eye and, on the left, in white, a large W.
When she realizes she’s on the screen, she shakes her head and laughs, buries her face in her hands, only to reappear, putting her hands to the corners of her mouth, and shouting, “Yes!”
If I thought I was choking just a second ago, that was nothing, nothing compared to what I feel now.
An unpleasant tingling spreads through the back of my head as I breathe in, but there’s this blockage, this pain when I see how happy we were, how unbroken.
There were no ghosts buzzing around us, no demons—we were just present, every moment a serotonin boost, every breath euphoria.
The video ends, but it’s not quite over.
The black screen plays a song, and I know which one it is from the very first sounds.
Francois Klark’s “Always.” A slideshow starts, one picture after another, countless memories from six years together, while she tries to tell me in her voice that I will always live in her heart, always be in her dreams, that I am the one who has never left her; no matter how hard she tries to hide, I am the one who makes her heart beat faster, faster than light, and I will be her always forever.
The slideshow stops. My breath catches in my throat.
“Wyatt. I know I’m just seventeen and all, and maybe I don’t have any idea about love, but, damn, you and Aria belong together!”
I sink back onto the couch, my limbs numb. “She doesn’t want me anymore.”
“She doesn’t want you because she’s trying to protect herself!”
“Impossible, Mila. When Aria gets something into her head, you need a miracle to convince her of the opposite.”
“My God, Wy, then give her that miracle!”
“HOW?”
Camila fires the remote against my shoulder. “By fighting for her, idiot!”
“She’s hiding, Mila. She doesn’t want to hear from me. She turns away anyone I ask to speak with her. And she’s blocked my number.”
“Then use the other one!”
“The other one?”
“You can’t be serious. You dressed up like a lobster and texted with her for months, but it hasn’t occurred to you to pretend to be Paxton?”
“Paxton,” I murmur, and the scales fall from my eyes. “Of course. I can reach her as Paxton!”
“You’re a genius,” she says sarcastically.
Within milliseconds I’m on my feet and digging through the chest of drawers for the little SIM card. As soon as I’ve found it and stuck it into my phone, I open the chat with Aria. She’s online. Just seeing that, just feeling that tiny bit of her, makes my pulse race.
Camila looks over my shoulder as I type.
Hi.
It takes about a minute for Aria to answer.
***
Next to me, Camila lets out an annoyed sigh. “Come on, man, just ask her if you all can meet!”
Funny to see you writing all of a sudden.
It takes me a second to remember what Paxton told me about the party.
Could we see each other?
Why?
Let me explain why I was such a jerk at the party.
It doesn’t matter, Paxton. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t meet anyone right now anyway.
My lost enthusiasm gets a new boost. Camila excitedly taps my shoulder. “Oooh, you see? You’re the only one she wants!”
As I respond, I begin to smile.
Please. Let’s clear that up at least.
Fine. When and where?
Camila shrieks. “Yes, baby!”
Silver Lake. In an hour.