Chapter 19
RHIANNON
I’m sitting on the motel bed with my laptop open, trying to type up observations from the last data collection.
Trying being the key word.
I’ve been staring at the same incomplete sentence for twenty minutes.
Thermal gradient measurements at Site Five showed consistent fluctuation patterns, indicating...
Indicating what? I don’t remember. Can’t focus. Can’t think about anything except the fact that Carter is seventeen doors away and might as well be on another planet.
I delete the sentence and start over.
Site Five thermal readings were collected on December 26th under optimal conditions...
Optimal conditions. Right. If you don’t count the fact that we could barely look at each other. That we moved around the site like strangers. That every accidental brush of hands felt like touching a live wire.
Delete.
My eyes are burning. I’ve been crying on and off for the past two hours, and I’m exhausted from it. Exhausted from pretending I’m fine. Exhausted from telling myself this is what I wanted.
I should call my roommate Meg. Text my mom back. Do literally anything productive.
Instead, I’m sitting here in Carter’s sweatshirt—the one he lent me days ago that I forgot to give back, or maybe didn’t forget—and trying not to fall apart.
The sweatshirt smells like him.
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them, staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen.
What am I doing?
That’s the real question. Not what are the thermal gradient measurements. Not what does the data indicate.
What am I doing pushing away the best thing that’s happened to me in years, because I’m too scared to try?
A knock on the door makes me jump.
I freeze.
It could be anyone. The motel manager. Someone with the wrong room.
But I know it’s not.
“Rhi? It’s me.”
Carter’s voice through the door.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“I know you’re probably not ready to talk. I know I said it was fine but—”
There’s a pause. I hear him lean against the door, can almost see him with his forehead pressed to the wood.
“But my Dad called. And he reminded me that being brave means showing up. Even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t know what to say.”
My throat gets tight.
“So I’m showing up. And I’m going to say what I should have said in the truck instead of being angry and hurt and defensive.”
I stand up slowly, move toward the door. Put my hand on it but don’t open it yet.
“I’m sorry. For pushing you and dropping too much baggage on you. It’s not your responsibility to hold all that.”
He thinks this is his fault.
“But, Rhi, I do want to fight for us. I do think what we have is real. And I’m terrified you’ll realize I’m not good enough. That I’m too much of a mess. That I’m still figuring out who I am, and you deserve someone who has their shit together.”
He’s terrified I’ll realize he’s not good enough.
Not the other way around.
Not that I’m too much.
That he’s not enough.
My hand is on the doorknob now.
“But I’d rather try and fail than not try at all. I’d rather fight for this and lose than walk away and wonder what if. So I’m here. At your door. Showing up. Even though I’m scared you’ll tell me to leave.”
I open the door.
Carter’s standing there, one hand braced on the doorframe, looking exhausted and hopeful and scared all at once.
His eyes meet mine.
“You’re not a mess,” I say, and my voice comes out rough from crying. “And you’re more than good enough.”
His face does something complicated. “So are you.”
And that’s all it takes.
I’m crying again, and then I’m stepping forward into his arms, and he’s holding me so tight I can barely breathe, and it’s exactly what I need.
I cry into his chest—his t-shirt, not the sweatshirt I’m wearing, which is definitely his, and probably explains the look on his face when he saw me—and he just holds me.
Doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t tell me to stop. Just holds me while I fall apart.
“I’m sorry,” I finally manage. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I pushed you away. I hurt you. I made you think—” I pull back enough to look at him, and his eyes are red-rimmed too. “It’s not you. It was never you. You’re not too much. You’re perfect. You’re exactly right.”
“Then why—” He stops himself. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I wasn’t running from you.”
“Then what are you running from?”
“Myself.” The word cracks coming out. “The version of me that disappears when I love someone.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“Matthew did that to me. Or I did it to myself being with him. Slowly. Little by little. Small things that seemed like love, but were actually control. Until I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Until I was small and quiet and constantly apologizing for existing.”
Carter’s jaw tightens.
“And with you, it’s so easy,” I continue, the words spilling out faster now. “So easy to just... be. To laugh and make terrible paper stars and do puzzles even though you hate them, and falling asleep on your chest. So easy to imagine a future. So easy to forget to protect myself.”
“Rhi—”
“And that terrifies me.” I’m crying again. “Because the last time something was this easy, I lost two years of my life. The last time someone made me feel special, I ended up convinced that I needed to be less to deserve love.”
“You don’t—”
“I know.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve—his sleeve.
He’s very quiet. A lock of hair falls over his face.
Then he takes my face in his hands, thumbs brushing away my tears, and looks at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Rhiannon Pierce,” he says, and his voice is rough with emotion.
My heart stops.
“You make me feel alive.”
Oh.
“For a while now, I’ve been sleepwalking. Going through the motions. Pretending to be fine while everything inside me was dying. And then I met you, and—”
He has to stop, swallow hard. I can see his throat working.
“You make the world shine brighter for me. You make me want to be awake. To be present. To actually try instead of just surviving.”
“Carter—”
“I’m not done.” His thumbs brush across my cheekbones, so gentle it makes me want to cry again. “You’re scared of losing yourself. I get it. But I won’t let that happen.”
“You can’t promise—”
“I won’t let you disappear. I won’t let any part of you—even the annoying parts—get lost.”
A wet laugh escapes me. “The annoying parts?”
“Especially the annoying parts.” He’s smiling now, even though his eyes are shining with unshed tears.
“The organising. The triple-checking. The way you make lists for your lists. The way you love lame puzzles. The way you can’t just trust that the spectrometer is fine, and have to verify it personally.
And especially the part that likes pineapple on the pizza. ”
“That’s a lot of annoying parts.”
“I like each and every one of them.” His voice drops to barely a whisper. “I like all of you, Rhi. The organized parts. The scared parts. The parts that think they’re too much. All of it.”
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” I whisper. “To not lose myself. To stay me while being with you.”
“You’re so fucking strong, Rhi.” He leans his forehead against mine. “And you don’t have to do it alone. If you feel yourself getting lost, tell me. If I’m asking too much, tell me. If you need space, tell me. I’ll listen. I promise. Communicate. And I’ll do the same.”
“What if I can’t tell the difference? What if I don’t realize I’m losing myself until it’s too late?”
“Then I’ll tell you.” His hands are still cradling my face like I’m something that might break. “I’ll notice. I’ll say ‘hey what’s wrong?’ Or ‘you agreed with me too easily just now, are you okay?’ I’ll pay attention. I promise.”
“You’d do that?”
“Rhi, I notice everything about you. When you scrunch your nose while thinking. You bite your lip because you’re anxious.
I notice when you’re pretending to be fine but you’re actually overwhelmed.
” His voice cracks slightly. “I see you. All of you. And I’m not going to let a single part disappear. ”
“Even all the annoying parts?”
“Especially those. Those are my favorite parts.”
I don’t know who moves first.
Maybe we both do.
But suddenly we’re kissing, and it’s not sweet or gentle.
It’s desperate. Necessary. Like breathing after being underwater too long.
His hands slide from my face to my hair, and mine grip his shirt, pulling him closer, and I kiss him like I’m trying to say all the things I can’t put into words.
I’m sorry. I’m scared. I’m choosing this anyway. I’m choosing you. Please don’t give up on me.
He kisses me back like he’s saying his own things.
I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe with me. I see you. I want you. Exactly as you are. I’m sorry I walked away.
We break apart just long enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, and then we’re kissing again.
My back hits the doorframe. His hands are on my waist, pulling me closer. I make a sound that should be embarrassing but isn’t, because he makes one too.
Carter kisses like he’s giving. Like he’s grateful. Like he can’t quite believe I’m real and he’s allowed to touch me.
When we finally break apart for real, we’re both breathing hard.
“We’re both scared,” I say, “We’re both messy. We’re both figuring it out. But maybe—maybe we can be scared and messy together.”
“I like that plan.”
“It’s not really a plan.”
“Even better.” He grins, looking boyish again.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
So I kiss him again.
And again.
And somewhere between the kissing and the laughing, we end up inside my room, door closed, sitting on the terrible motel bed with our foreheads pressed together.
“I’m still wearing your sweatshirt,” I say eventually.
“I noticed.”
“I forgot to give it back.”
“Did you, really?”
“Okay, no. I definitely didn’t forget. I might have been enjoying it.”
His smile could light up the entire room. “Yeah?”
“It smells like you.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing.” I take his hand, lacing our fingers together. “I missed you. Even though you didn’t go anywhere. Even though it was my fault. I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” He squeezes my hand. “So much. These past two days have been hell.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. Me too.” He kisses my forehead. “But we’re here now. We’re figuring it out.”
“We are.”
“And tomorrow, we go back to Site One, collect our final readings, and then head back to campus.”
My stomach drops. “Campus.”
“Where we will continue to see each other,” he says firmly. “Where I will take you on actual dates. Where we will figure out what this looks like in the real world.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. His arm around me. My head on his chest. His heartbeat steady under my ear.
“Can I stay?” he asks eventually.
I smile against his shirt. “Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Stay.”