Love on the Brain(92)

“Because I trust you. Because I know you. I know the person you are, the scientist you are, and—” His eyes fall on my bedroom. On my almost-but-not-quite-packed suitcase, open on the floor. He stiffens, pointing at it. “What’s that?”

I swallow. “I told you. I can’t in all conscience stay on BLINK anymore.”

He stares at me, open-mouthed, disbelieving. “So you’re packing up and leaving?” The question is aggressive, in a way that makes me think that there are right and wrong answers. I struggle to imagine any besides the one.

“What else should I do?” I shrug helplessly. “What’s the point of me being here?”

In the past two months, I’ve seen a lot of Levi Ward. I’ve seen him happy, focused, upset, sad, exultant, angry, horny, honest, disappointed, and various combinations of all these things. The way he’s looking at me right now, though . . . that’s something else. Beyond all of it.

Levi comes closer and opens his mouth, meaning to say something, then immediately turns around and paces away, shaking his head furiously. He takes a deep breath, and another, but when he looks at me again he’s hardly calmer.

“Are you serious?” Icy. His voice, his eyes, the line of his jaw. Pure ice.

“I . . . Levi. My presence here was always contingent upon my role in BLINK.”

“Was. But things have changed.”

“What has changed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that we’ve been together every second of the past two weeks, that we’ve made love every single night, that I know that you sigh in your sleep, that you floss like a maniac, that you taste like honey everywhere.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “What does that even mean?”

“Are you serious?” he repeats. “All of that—that was just . . . passing time while you were in Houston? Fucking? Is that what it was?”

“No. No. But there’s a difference between just passing time and . . .”

“And staying. And committing. And actually trying. Is that what you mean?”

“I . . .” I what? Am speechless? Confused? Scared? I don’t know what to say, or what he wants. We’re friends. Good friends. Who have sex. Who were always going to go their separate ways—like everyone does. “Levi, this was never meant to . . . I’m just trying to be honest.”

“Honest.” He lets out a noiseless, bitter laugh; stares at the hummingbird feeder, his tongue roaming the inside of his cheek. “Honesty. You want some honesty?”

“Yes. I just want to be as honest as possible—”

“Here’s the honesty: I’m in love with you. But that’s not news. Not to me, and not to you, I don’t think. Not if you’re honest with yourself—which you say you are, right?” My eyes widen. He powers on, ruthless, merciless. Levi Ward: force of nature. Sucking the air out of my lungs. “Here’s something else that’s honest: you’re in love with me, too.”

“Levi.” I shake my head, panic licking up my spine. “I—”

“But you’re scared. You’re scared shitless, and I don’t blame you. Tim was a piece of shit and I want to cut off his balls. Your best friend acted supremely selfishly when you needed her the most. Your parents died when you were a child, and then your extended family—I don’t know, maybe they tried their best, but they completely fucked up at giving you the sense of stability you needed. Your sister, whom you clearly adore, is constantly gone, and don’t think I don’t see the way you obsessively check your phone when she doesn’t reply to your texts for longer than ten minutes. And I get it. Why wouldn’t you be afraid that she’ll be taken away from you? Everyone else was. Every single person you’ve cared about has disappeared from your life, one way or another.” I don’t know how he manages to look so angry, so calm, so compassionate at the same time. “I understand. I can be patient. I’ve tried, will try to be patient. But I need . . . something. I need you to understand that this is not a book you’re writing. We’re not—not two characters you can keep apart because it makes for a literary ending. These are our lives, Bee.”

There’s a tear sliding down my neck. Another, a wet splotch against my collarbone. I screw my eyes shut. “When we went to the conference? And I saw Tim?” He nods. “It was upsetting. Very. But after a while I realized that I didn’t really feel anything for him, not anymore, and it was . . . nice. That’s what I want, you know? I want nice.” I’ve had so little of it. I was always, always being left behind. And the only way to not be left behind is to leave first. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand, sniffling. “If nice means being alone, then . . . so be it.”

“I can give you nice. I can give you better than nice. I can give you everything.” He smiles at me, full of hope. “You don’t even have to admit to yourself that you love me, Bee. God knows I love you enough for the both of us. But I need you to stay. I need you to stick around. Not in Houston, if you don’t want to. I’ll follow you, if you ask me to. But—”

“And when you get tired of me?” I’m a wet, trembling mess. “When you can’t be around anymore? When you meet someone else?”

“I won’t,” he says, and I hate how sure, how resigned he sounds.