Every Other Weekend(93)
Adam could make someone feel stupid by just raising an eyebrow, but that wasn’t what he was doing. He wasn’t being condescending; he was being patient with me, carefully trying to show me something that had been hidden for a long time. My heart hammered painfully against my chest as though it was trying to escape.
“That day we took our first picture for my mom, you told me not to take it personally if I couldn’t make her happy.”
“I don’t remember,” I said, hating that my voice was shaky.
“But that’s what I’ve been doing. Not just taking it personally, but holding everyone else responsible, too. So I became angrier and angrier, and my family didn’t get any better. I’m not saying my anger is the reason my family isn’t together, but it’s part of why we’ve stayed that way. If I’d been trying from the start...then maybe... I don’t know.” He took a huge breath. “I know that it’s not my dad’s fault. It’s not my mom’s fault, or Jeremy’s. I know it’s not my fault. It’s all and none, and I know that because of you.”
My heart lurched so violently I nearly toppled over. I tried to pull my hand free, but Adam hung on to me. “You made me want to be happy again.”
Tears sprang so forcefully to my eyes that I had to squeeze them shut, and still, he kept talking.
“You made me want to try when all I’d been doing was blaming everyone else. You don’t do that, and I don’t think you ever have. You are so much braver than I am, and I think I—no, I know that I lo—”
“Adam!” I didn’t think my heart was trying to escape anymore so much as it was trying to smash itself to a pulp. My ribs felt splintered and I didn’t trust myself to open my eyes. I could not let him say what I thought he’d been about to say. The terrified, desperate thing in my rib cage was frantic now.
“I will say it to you eventually, but if you’re not ready tonight...”
I opened my eyes again, my heart collapsing in relief.
He shrugged. “This—you here with me right now—it’s enough.”
I felt bruised and battered inside and my heart moved in shaky half beats, weary but ready to start slamming again if given the provocation.
“You here on my birthday?” He smiled. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I said, glad for the reprieve and the reminder that I had something else for him. My fingers still felt stiff from the cold and the adrenaline my heart had been flooding my system with, but they functioned enough to dig into my bag and pull out a small cardboard box. I handed it to Adam. “Open it.”
He did, and his smile made me feel warmer than when he’d given me his coat. Seeing his face was worth the cold. Way worth it.
“It’s apple cinnamon,” I said, nodding at the cupcake. As if he couldn’t tell. It smelled amazing, all spicy and buttery vanilla. I hoped it tasted almost as good as his mom’s apple pie, which he’d once said was like eating summer. I dug back into my bag and pulled out a candle and a pack of matches. The tiny flame flicked to life and made both our faces glow as I lit the wick. “I’m not going to sing to you, but you do get to make a wish.”
He glanced at the cupcake and the flame added liquid gold to his hazel eyes. “That’s easy. I already know what I want.”
My heart missed a beat, then made up for it with two more right on top of each other, not painful, but fast. Adam said what we had right now was enough, sitting together, talking together, keeping those last few crucial inches between us. My insides warned me that if I let him get any closer I wouldn’t survive, but I knew with a burst of heat that chased away every last bit of cold from my body that I’d never truly live if I tried to keep him away. I was ready for my heart to make one last brutal assault trying to protect itself, but it never came.
Because when Adam blew out his candle and his gaze locked with mine, I knew he’d wished for me.
I could feel it in the way his lips fit to mine: warm and so soft, with a trace of the mint toothpaste he must have used that night. I inhaled when his mouth touched mine, and it wasn’t just air that filled my lungs, it was Adam. That too-heady feel and scent and taste. My heart was racing again, only this time I wasn’t afraid of the way I felt. He overwhelmed me in the most frighteningly perfect way. A camera could never capture it, and for once I didn’t get lost trying to imagine the moment as any better that it was. The kiss made me light-headed, and when his still-warm hand rose to lift my chin so he could kiss me deeper, that dizzy, tingling heat consumed me.
It wasn’t just the sensation of Adam’s mouth against mine; it was what I knew he meant when he said I made him happy. Me. Comparing every other touch or hug or kiss I’d had before Adam was like comparing salt water to sweet. One took and the other gave. They’d all carried baggage and motive, but what Adam gave me was free. He kissed me because I was exactly what he wanted. He made me feel all the things he’d said on my birthday—that I was amazing and beautiful and the one thing I’d never let myself hope I’d ever be.
The thing I hadn’t let him say.
In his empty red barn that was a million miles away from anywhere I’d ever imagined, Adam Moynihan made me feel loved.
ADAM
I woke to the smell of bacon and what I thought were voices downstairs. Jeremy typically woke up just early enough to put on pants and grab a handful of whatever Mom had made for breakfast—he was notorious for eating scrambled eggs out of a paper towel with one hand while driving us to school with the other. But according to the clock, that still left him a good forty-five minutes.