The Speed of Light: A Novel(78)

Connor still loves me.

Emmett eases the car out of its parking space, and as we set off in the thickening snowfall toward home, he clears his throat. “Mone, I am so sorry about this. I was just . . .”

I reach over and touch his arm. “You were just being my brother. And it’s okay.” I beam at him. “Everything is going to be okay.”



At home I’m a ball of energy, whisking about in a frenzy, preparing to be reunited with Connor. I have an hour and a half now, and I can’t let his first vision of me in months be in baggy sweatpants and greasy hair. I leap into the shower, slather on lipstick, even curl my hair. I slip into the sparkly red dress my mom got me for Christmas last year that fits just right—much too fancy, but I don’t care.

I pause suddenly as I’m applying mascara, take a deep breath as I stare at the woman in the mirror—the woman who is about to get the happily ever after she deserves.

I smile at her, confident and strong, and she smiles back.

With a half hour to spare, I bound toward the front door, shrugging into my coat once more. Behind me, Dad snorts. “Where do you think you’re going in this weather?”

I turn around, still smiling. “I’m going to see Connor. Emmett can explain.”

“Oh, dear,” says Mom, coming up behind him.

My grin falters. “Oh, dear, what?”

“Honey, look out the window—there’s no way you can get anywhere with the snow coming down like that.”

I turn pleading eyes to my dad, but he shrugs, helpless. “My truck’s still up on blocks until Dale gets that new part in. Sorry, kiddo.”

No. No no no no no. I stare out the window, willing the snow to stop, for the banks to part like the Red Sea, to get me to Connor.

Please, I need a Christmas miracle. Just this once.

Next to me, a presence, breathing oddly heavily. I look over and nearly jump back—it’s Emmett, wearing a snowmobile helmet. His head turns toward me, but I see only my own face reflected back at me, my mouth hanging open. “Did you get that old piece of shit running?”

“Hey, that’s an old piece of solid gold shit out there.” His voice is muffled, I still can’t see his face, but I know he’s grinning. “And yes, I did. So what do you think, sis? Are you in?”

I grin back, a spark in my eye. “Oh hell yeah. Let’s do this.”



We’re going so fast, flying through the dark, nearly empty streets, but for one moment I get the nerve to open my eyes, to peek my helmeted head around Emmett’s back, and I gasp.

Snowflakes rush by, a force of white against the black sky. Like stars.

Like we’re flying at light speed.

And I am. I am shooting forth at the speed of light, straight toward my love.

I shut my eyes again as we fly on, until Emmett slows to a stop and sits with the engine idling. I think he’s at an intersection until he nudges me. When I open my eyes, we’re sitting in a driveway of a house I don’t recognize. It’s small, blue with white shutters, pretty twinkling Christmas lights strung along the roof.

And Connor’s truck is parked out front.

I ease myself off the side and almost roll into the snow, then waddle my way forward in the oversize snowsuit I borrowed from my dad—so much for the sexy red dress. At first I don’t see anyone, but then the front door opens and Arielle sticks her head out. I yank off my helmet, brush back my disheveled hair so she can see it’s me, and she grins, then rushes back into the house.

I stand in the driveway, and as the cold air whips against my face, cruel doubt starts to creep in. What if I waited too long? What if’s he’s still hurt? Or angry? What if he’s decided he doesn’t want to see me—that he doesn’t want me after all?

The door opens fully, light pours out, and there he is, standing in the doorway—black jacket with his collar turned up against the chill, eyes sweeping the yard curiously. When they fall on me, he blinks, as if he can’t believe it’s me standing there. Shaking, I take a tentative step forward. He does the same.

I draw a deep breath. “Connor.” My voice breaks, and he takes another cautious step. Another breath, and I speak again. “I shouldn’t have run away. I shouldn’t have sent you away. There’s so much I did wrong, that I wish I could take back. I wish I’d talked to you about how I was feeling. I was just so scared I wasn’t enough for you. Or that part of me was too much . . . my illness, and everything that might come with it, was too much for you. That you would be frustrated when you realized you couldn’t fix me, and you’d leave me.”

He shakes his head, his eyes intense. “You don’t need to be fixed. You’re perfect, just as you are. Every part of you.”

His words wash over me, and a tear escapes. “I am so sorry.”

“Me too,” he says. “There was never anybody else—never. But I should’ve been honest with you.”

I nod and let my tears flow freely. I open my mouth, struggling to control my voice. “Do you think . . . I mean, could you ever . . .” But my voice catches; I can’t get the words out. I look at him helplessly, hopefully.

Connor walks toward me until we are inches apart, until I can feel the warmth of his breath, his body. He searches my face as if reacquainting himself, and I search his—the stubble on his cheek, the tiny scar on his brow. I’ve missed every last part of him, every corner of his heart and soul, and in that moment there is no doubt how he feels—it’s there in the depth of his eyes, the gentleness of his fingertips as he wipes away my tears, brushes back my hair. “Yes,” he whispers.