Space (Laws of Physics #2)(28)

And then he was there.

Startled, I froze.

Head down, he was strolling toward me, wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and green snow pants that did wonderful things for his chest and thighs, which did all kinds of wonderful and terrible things to my chest and thighs.

Regrouping my scattered wits, I drew myself up straighter, squared my shoulders, and faced him.

Okay. This is it. This is it. Be brave like Ahab.

What? No! Ahab was insane, not brave!

Well, honestly, if the shoe fits . . .

Frowning and mentally shaking a fist at my internal dialogue, I shook my head to clear it and allowed my gaze to move over Abram. I hadn’t really looked at him last night. The lights of the funicular structure at night were dim compared to inside the house during the day, and I’d been somewhat blinded by shock. But I looked at—and saw—him now.

He looked so different. So astonishingly different. And yet, he was the same.

For one, he was bulkier, which made him seem taller. In the last images I’d seen of Abram, before he’d changed his last name and disappeared, he’d been thinner, not bulkier. Obviously, he’d made some changes. He looked like he’d been working out a lot. Like one of those people who took a healthy gym habit to the next level. Like lifting weights had become a source of mental health more than physical health. The added muscle suited him, looked extremely good on him, but it also gave Abram an air of power and strength that I found both flustering—because, holy hot specimen of the male species, Batman—and alarming.

Another change, his scruffy stubble had become a bountiful beard, trimmed and shaped neatly. Also, his hair was much, much longer. It was so long, he wore it in a manbun twisted near his crown. It wasn’t a pithy manbun. No, no. This manbun restrained a quantity of thick, shiny brown hair. I wondered tangentially if he’d cut it since Chicago.

Of course, there was also the small matter of his face. He had scars where none had existed prior, presumably from the fights I already knew about—the ones where he’d been arrested but no charges had been filed—and perhaps from a few fights I didn’t. Nothing major, just enough to give him an air of wickedness without verging into sinister territory.

But his nose, which had obviously been broken, was different. It looked more pronounced than before and . . . different. Again, I knew about his broken nose already, having internet-stalked him for over a year. Maybe that’s why the change in his features from handsome to hardened—but still handsome—didn’t faze me much, and maybe he didn’t receive congratulations cards on his face anymore. But I hadn’t been mooning over his external attractiveness for the last several years. Abram’s nose hadn’t been the star of my dreams. It was his heart I longed for.

Therefore, the most startling of the changes revealed itself as our eyes met. My heart did a double backflip but failed the dismount, splattering all over and making a mess, while his steps slowed. I held my breath again. No amount of numbing space suit technology, bracing rationality, or accepting the futility of the future prepared me for what I saw.

Gone were the warmth in the amber of his eyes, the knowing twinkle, the sensitive spark. In their places were cool aloofness, sharp intelligence, and stark asceticism. The difference suffused every corner of my being with sorrow, caused a deep, potent ache in my chest such that I dreaded my next breath. I was dizzy.

But Abram, other than slowing his approach, showed no outward sign of, well, anything. His features were wiped of expression, and he seemed to gaze upon my face like I might be a piece of furniture.

Oh. Ouch. Jeez. That hurts. Yikes. What’s the temperature in here? Is it set to Venus-hellfire? Or is that just me?

But he did speak. “What are you doing?”

I swallowed my nerves, lifted my chin, and pointed to the door behind me with my thumb. “I was leaving something for you, in your room.”

“You were in my room?” he asked, shifting closer.

And that’s when I smelled the Abram smell. My pulse hammered against my neck and wrists, my blood somehow made thicker by the fragrance of him. I reminded my bones that they were not made of liquid, but they weren’t so sure. Despite recognizing the madness of the impulse, I greedily inhaled through my nose. The memory, the nostalgia left me feeling an acute sense of wonder and subsequent calm.

Some things change completely. Even the rate of change changed, fluctuated. Change was the only true constant in the universe.

But, over short periods relative to the existence of time, some things changed not at all. In this instance, the lack of change, the consistency of how Abram smelled, was overwhelmingly comforting.

“Hello?”

I blinked at him, opening my mouth to respond, but I’d forgotten the question. “Could you repeat the question, please?”

His eyes flickered between mine and I perceived a crack there, a curiosity, a bit of ye-Abram-of-old peeking through. But his tone was flat as he asked again, “You were in my room?”

“Oh. Yes.” Coming back to myself, I gripped the material of my cargo pants and nodded. “But, don’t worry. I knew you were gone. I would never go in your room if I thought you were in it.”

Abram stared at me, his eyes narrowing, his lips parted as though he wanted to ask a question, but my words were so confusing, he didn’t know where to start.

Discerning the fact that he was confused, I reviewed my statements, and what might have been confusing about them. I’d spoken on instinct, my goal to assure him that he didn’t need to worry about me sneaking in, in the middle of the night, and pulling a teenage-Lisa.