Chapter 23
It’s shocking how easily Nox folds out of my life.
Not my mind, maybe, but my physical existence.
Between his training, his competitions, and his work, and my studies and my interviews, we hardly see each other when we get back from winter break.
J-term passes in a blink, bleeding into the regular semester.
We run into each other across campus ever so often.
The gang meets up for the occasional meal.
I can’t help but notice he seems to have training every time I’m in the pool for my scuba class.
But it’s different. It’s longing looks and secret stares.
It’s the awareness of his focus on me across the table while he laughs at something Logan said.
It’s the subtle brush of our arms as I pass by just a bit too close.
It’s pent up and pining and shoving so much feeling under the metaphorical rug I’ve practically got Mount Everest building beneath my skin because it’s not the right time for anything else.
Nova notices.
But she doesn’t scheme, which almost makes it worse, giving this thing between us more weight, more authenticity, as if it’s so real, so fragile, even she’s afraid to touch it.
A massive blizzard strikes on their birthday so the guys come to our place to batten down the hatches and celebrate.
Three pots of pasta, one extremely questionable Funfetti cake, and four testy rounds of Battle of the Sexes later, we agree to end on a tie and watch a movie instead.
Apparently, it’s tradition to watch the original Star Wars trilogy on their birthday every year, because, well, the whole twin thing, I think.
Anyway, I go to the bathroom while they’re setting up, and by the time I get out, the lights are off, the opening credits are rolling, and there’s only one spot open in the entire living room—the one directly next to Nox.
I’m not saying it’s deliberate, but I’m also acutely aware of the way no one will meet my eyes as I cross the room and sink slowly onto the empty cushion.
The whole left side of my body burns at the mere potential of touching him.
I don’t. I hug my legs into my chest, avoiding all temptation as I rest my chin on my knees and make myself as small as possible.
Nox casually drapes his arm across the back of the couch, sending a wave of prickles down my back, making my hairs stand on end, those treacherous little bastards, straining for him, when I’m doing everything in my power to try to stay cool.
The screen may as well be black. I have no idea what’s going on in the movie.
I’m too focused on the rise and fall of his chest while he breathes, the way the couch shakes when he laughs, how he keeps looking over every few minutes to gauge my reaction.
Every muscle in my body starts to ache from the tension of being so still, so small.
I’m fighting gravity, trying not to roll into his chest as he sinks lower, taking the cushion with him.
The exact moment my arms start to tremble, his comes around me, pulling me closer.
I surrender completely, curling into his chest, dropping my head against his soft T-shirt, snuggling my cold toes under his warm jean-clad thigh.
He shifts just enough to make all our angles align, like the final puzzle piece sliding home, his hard against my soft.
I slot perfectly into the crook of his shoulder.
His hand settles on my hip. He fiddles with the edge of my leggings until he finds the waistband, sliding his fingertips underneath.
My heart thunders with expectation, but he stays there, not pushing for more, as if all he wanted to do was feel my skin just to know I was real.
I’m not sure how it’s even possible with how hyperaware I feel, but at some point I close my eyes to darkness and open them to bright daylight.
Nox is still here.
His heart drums softly against my ear, steady, constant. Mine flails like a wild beast in my chest as I register his arm still hooked around me, my legs draped across his lap, his large hand spread over my thigh. I’m practically sitting on him.
Did we spend all night here?
Yes. Duh.
But how? Why?
Strong fingers dig into my hip, still warm against my skin. I lean back, look up. He’s watching me, gaze sleepy, filled with a soft glow. I drop my mouth open, not sure what to say.
I’m sorry?
I’m not. Not about last night anyway. But nothing’s changed. Nothing’s different.
We stare at each other as the golden light filtering through the windows brightens. The silence fills with everything left unspoken. Then it fills with something else, something it takes me a minute to notice.
Snoring.
Curious, I tilt my head to the side, turning toward the noise. Logan is passed out on an air mattress on the floor, arm flung over his head, legs splayed, a bit of drool leaking from the side of his wide-open mouth. It’s too good an opportunity to miss, too good of a diversion.
“Should we mess with him?” I whisper.
Nox breathes out a laugh. “Always.”
“Let me text Nova.”
I take the excuse to untangle our limbs as I reach for my phone, trying to ignore the obvious intimacy of spending the entire night wrapped in his embrace. If he’s not going to address it, there’s no way in hell I am.
As I pull up my messages to tell Nova to get her ass out here, a notification catches my attention from the group chat.
I click. It’s a series of ten photos, all of me and Nox passed out on the couch.
In one, Nova and Willa are grinning with cake.
In another, Logan has his naked butt cheeks about an inch from Nox’s face.
In another, we’ve got party hats on. In yet another, we’ve each got a tower of Solo cups balanced on our head.
“Those assholes,” I mutter, showing Nox.
He snorts and rolls his eyes.
I click once more, this time on a thread with Nova. She sent one more photo of Nox and me, no gimmicks, no tricks, just my face on his chest, his chin in my hair, a contented look on both of our faces. She followed it with two words, My heart.
I don’t show him.
It’s too revealing.
But I save it to my photos. I keep it for later.
“What’s our play?” I ask Nox, putting away my phone, trying to ignore the slight burn beneath my sternum.
He notches his chin toward the kitchen, where we fill up an entire pot of freezing-cold water, then dump it on Logan’s head.
Two weeks later, my acceptance letter to the junior-year study abroad program officially arrives. I don’t tell anyone at first. I take a week to let the news sink in, to let it fester, feel real. I won’t be here next year. I’m actually leaving Swiftmore. I’m actually going to Australia.
It’s thrilling.
It’s terrifying.
When I finally tell Nova and Willa, they immediately burst into tears, so happy for me but also hugging me and whispering that they’ll miss me so much, that they don’t know what they’ll do without me.
Nova must tell Nox, because the next time I see him, he offers me a muted congratulations. The expression in his eyes doesn’t match the words on his lips. Those evergreen depths whisper, Don’t leave.
Before I know it, the weather starts to warm.
And suddenly, time is slipping through my fingers like water through a sieve, too many holes to contain.
I want to savor every moment with my best friends.
I want to memorize the little glimmers of Nox I’m able to steal between his travels.
I even want to bask in Logan’s absurdity, in Grant’s steadfast silence.
The big red X on my calendar marking the day of my scuba test marches closer and closer, no matter how hard I try to ignore it.
The pool no longer terrifies me, but that murky water I see outside my window every morning still brings a catch to my throat.
I wait for Nox to make good on his promise, as jackets give way to sweatshirts give way to tank tops and shorts and the warm kiss of sunlight on my bare skin.
He doesn’t.
I’m not sure if preparing for Worlds made him forget. I’m too afraid to ask. So I keep going, keep spinning, faster and faster, worried that if I stop for a moment to let myself breathe, I’ll realize there’s nothing but air beneath my feet.
I blame the whirlwind for what happens on the night of Nova’s spring musical.
It’s tradition for the Drama Club to host a huge party after the final show.
Willa and I go with Nova to celebrate, and the second we step into the throng, I get hit with this wave of realization—I won’t be here next year.
I won’t see Nova onstage. I won’t be able to celebrate with Willa.
I’ll be on the other side of the world, living my dream, yes, but missing out on everything else.
The bittersweet tang sticks to my tongue.
The intrusive thoughts won’t leave. I’m so distracted, I don’t pay as much attention as I usually do to what I’m drinking, what I’m eating.
I’m not exactly sure when it happens, but all of a sudden, the drug I accidentally take hits.
The lights flare to spotlights.
Voices mutate and morph.
The room spins.
I can’t see straight. I can’t walk straight. The world fades to flashes of time, little vignettes of reality blinking through an amorphous haze.
My cell phone in my hand.
A strong arm sliding under my legs.
A sturdy palm on my back as I grip cool porcelain.
Green eyes staring at me with concern.
Blankets tucked around my shoulders.
Soft words in my ear.
You’re okay. Shh. It’s going to be okay. I’m right here. I’ll be here.
I groan and blink, sunlight hitting my eyes like knives as sharp pains shoot across my skull with blinding fury. Fear rockets up my throat. Am I back in the hospital? Did something go wrong? What—
No.
I recognize my soft gray walls, the photos taped above my bed, the poster of the Great Barrier Reef I’ve been using as my motivation for the past nine months.
I’m in my room.
I’m okay.