Five Feet Apart(61)

I smile and look around at all the faces in the room. Then why isn’t he here?

Julie takes a step forward, propping an iPad up on my lap. I frown, confused.

She presses play.

“My beautiful, bossy Stella,” Will says, his face appearing on the screen, his hair its usual charming mess, his smile as lopsided as ever.

“I guess it’s true what that book of yours says—the soul knows no time. These past few weeks will last forever for me.” He takes a deep breath, smiling with those blue eyes. “My only regret is that you never got to see your lights.”

I look up, surprised, as the lights in my room suddenly go out. I see Julie standing by the switch.

Suddenly the courtyard outside my recovery room window is ablaze, the entire space filled with the twinkling holiday lights from the park, twisting around the lampposts and the trees. I gasp as they cast a glow into my room. Barb and Julie unlock the bed, rolling it right up to the window so I can see.

And there, on the other side of the glass, standing under a canopy of those beautiful lights, is Will.

My eyes widen as I realize what’s happening.

He’s leaving. Will’s leaving. I grip at the sheets as a different kind of pain takes over.

He smiles at me, looking down and pulling out his phone. Behind me, my phone starts ringing. Julie brings it to me, putting it on speaker. I open my mouth to speak, to say something, to tell him to stay, but nothing comes out.

The ventilator tube hisses.

I try to somehow tell him through my look not to leave. That I need him.

He gives me a faint smile, and I see the tears in his blue eyes. “Finally, I’ve got you speechless,” he says, his voice pouring out of the phone.

He raises his hand, putting it up against the glass of the window. I weakly raise mine, resting it on top of his, the glass just the latest thing keeping us apart.

I want to scream.

Stay.

“People in the movies are always saying, ‘You have to love someone enough to let them go.’?” He shakes his head, swallowing, struggling to speak. “I always thought that was such bullshit. But seeing you almost die . . .”

His voice trails off, and my fingers curl against the cool window, wanting to smash it, but I can barely manage a knock. “In that moment nothing else mattered to me. Nothing. Except your life.”

He presses harder too, his voice shaking as he continues. “The only thing I want is to be with you. But I need for you to be safe. Safe from me.”

He fights to continue, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t want to leave you, but I love you too much to stay.” He laughs through his tears, shaking his head. “God, the freakin’ movies were right.”

He leans his head against the window where my hand rests. I can feel it, even through the glass. I can feel him.

“I will love you forever,” he says, looking up so we’re face-to-face, the both of us silently seeing the same pain in each other’s eyes. My heart slowly cracks under the new scar.

My breath fogs up the glass, and one more time I lift a shaking finger, drawing a heart.

“Will you please close your eyes?” he asks, his voice breaking. “I’m not gonna be able to walk away from you if you’re looking at me.”

But I refuse. He looks up, seeing the defiance in my face. But the certainty in his surprises me.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, smiling through the tears. “If I stop breathing tomorrow, know that I wouldn’t change a thing.”

I love him. And he’s about to leave my life forever so that I can have a life to live.

“Please close your eyes,” he begs, his jaw tightening. “Let me go.”

I take a moment to memorize his face, every inch of it, and finally I force my eyes shut as sobs rack my body, fighting with the ventilator.

He’s leaving.

Will’s leaving.

When I open my eyes, he will be gone.

Tears stream down my face as I feel him walk away, much farther than the five feet that we agreed on. That was always between us.

I open my eyes slowly, some part of me still hoping he’ll be on the other side of the glass. But all I see are the twinkling lights in the courtyard and a town car in the distance, disappearing into the night.

My fingertips reach up, shaking, as I touch his lip print on the window. His final kiss good-bye.





EIGHT MONTHS LATER





CHAPTER 30


WILL


The speaker in the airport terminal crackles to life, a muffled voice breaking through the morning chatter and the suitcase wheels clunking over the tiled floor. I pull out one of my earbuds to hear the voice, worried about a gate change and having to go cross-airport with a pair of shitty lungs. “Your attention please, passengers for Icelandair flight 616 to Stockholm . . .”

I put my earbud back in. Not my flight. I’m not going to Sweden until December.

Settling back into the armchair, I pull up YouTube for the millionth time, making my way as usual to Stella’s last video. If YouTube kept track of individual views, the police definitely would have been sent to my house by now, I’d seem like such a stalker. But I don’t care, because this video is about us. And when I press play, she tells our story.

“Human touch. Our first form of communication,” she says, her voice loud and clear. She takes a deep breath, her new lungs working wonderfully.