Chapter Forty-Two
FORTY-TWO
I TURN, HIS HANDS NEVER leaving my body as I face him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, glancing over his shoulder, acutely aware of the fact that I was just eavesdropping on his conversation.
Malachi ignores my question and bends down to peer into my face. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Fuck off,” I hiss, nudging him out of the way and feigning boredom as I turn back to the dancers.
“I was serious,” he murmurs from behind me.
I look over my shoulder. “About what?”
“About dancing.”
“You? Dancing?” I ask suspiciously. “Are you okay?”
He runs his hands though his hair and shrugs, his eyes bouncing between my own.
I glance around again, still searching for Lucas somehow. Still uncertain about what I just heard. About where he and I stand. About how he would feel to see me dance with Malachi.
Besides, after everything that’s happened since last summer, I’m not sure that pretending like we aren’t irrevocably broken is the best idea.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping his hands around my hips and turning me, bringing my body close to his.
He’s not wearing a costume but instead has on a vintage Scream T-shirt and a dangly silver earring that glints in the strobe lights.
His fingers trail down, intertwining with mine. “You have to. It’s my birthday.”
I gasp.
I totally forgot that his birthday is on Halloween.
Guess that explains the dinner he doesn’t want to go to.
When I look at him, his eyes are alight with mischief, and I have to force down the butterflies.
What will it take for my stupid body to get the memo.
HarKai is over. It was over before it ever began.
It was nothing more than silly daydreams and too many nights inserting myself into mental fanfic of our future together.
But… it’s been so long since I’ve seen this look on his face. The tense, firm line of his mouth is gone. In its place is a smirk that makes heat pool in my belly.
I gulp. “Happy birthday.”
Maybe it’s the liquor, or maybe it’s the decorations, the music, and the lights all working together to blur my judgment, but I decide that I can dance with him. Just one dance. Just this once. “What’s gotten into you?” I ask, winding my arms around his neck.
His eyes snake over me hungrily, and the butterflies in my belly move into my brain, liquifying my common sense.
“Like I said, it’s my birthday.” He shrugs. “I deserve a treat.” His voice is rough as he pulls me closer until our bodies are flush.
“Are you drunk?” I ask incredulously.
“Are you?” he counters.
I snort, shaking my head as he spins me. I turn, once, twice, three times, my skirt billowing before I come crashing back to him, my hands against the solid planes of his chest.
For the first time in a long time, I feel the tug of a genuine smile on my lips, but I hide it. From him. From myself. From the universe that seems determined to thwart every attempt I have at being normal even for just one night.
He looks like he wants to say something, but the upbeat pop ballad simmers down into a smooth melody, and he changes his mind.
Our movements slow to a stop.
My palms are clammy, and I wipe them down my front as I take a step back.
And he takes a step forward.
He reaches out and lifts my arms from my sides, wrapping them around his neck once again. His hands are warm as he places them low on my waist, hugging me to him, rocking our bodies together. His moss-colored eyes lock on to mine, and suddenly I’m breathless.
The music—the other students—fade away.
It’s just me and him.
“Despite everything,” I say, because alcohol makes me stupid, “I’ve really missed you.” My voice wobbles dangerously. It feels like if I don’t tell him this now, I might never get the chance.
He stares down at my face like he’s memorizing me, or rememorizing me.
“I’ve missed you, too.” It’s a whisper. A secret we haven’t let ourselves reveal until now.
He squeezes me to his chest. I give in, my head turning to rest against him. I close my eyes and marvel at how different I feel in his arms. It’s not quiet like it is with Lucas, or unbearably loud like it is when I’m alone. It’s a thrumming, like a freshly tuned and plucked guitar string.
I listen to the rapid thump of his heart—a curious echo of my own. A silver chain hangs above his shirt, a hexagonal pendant dangling in front of my face. My fingers catch on the edge. Etched over the surface is an engraving I don’t recognize: Vx.
As we stand there, drunk and clumsy and forgetful of the hatred that’s erupted between us, a slew of memories sweep me away.
The magic of our summers in Earnest.
Malachi’s arms are still wrapped around me, but I pull back and look at him. I mean really look.
This boy who stands before me is not the same.
But neither am I.
Raising my hand, I graze the pale scar that now cuts through his left eyebrow, a match to the ones that litter his body from the accident.
“What are we doing?” I whisper as my fingers skate over his shoulder and chest, trailing down the length of his bicep and forearm to where inky black swirls adorn his pale skin. This is the first time I’ve really been able to look at them up close.
I watch as his tattoos move beneath my touch.
As they follow my finger like a living thing.