A Thousand Boy Kisses(31)

As the final part of my heart broke, I turned and fled the room before I could witness that kiss. I pushed into the hallway and ran to the nearest room I could find. Frantically turning the handle, I pushed through into the semi-darkness of a laundry room.

I slammed the door and leaned against the washer, unable to keep myself from bending at the waist and letting the tears pour. I fought back the sickness rising up my throat as I desperately fought to wipe the offensive image from my head.

During these past two years, I thought I’d endured all facets of pain. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. Because nothing could compare with the pain of seeing the one you love in the arms of another.

Nothing could compare to a promised lip’s betrayal of a kiss.

My hands clutched at my stomach. As I fought to drag in a much-needed breath, the handle of the door began to turn.

“Don’t! Go away—” I had started to shout, but before I could turn and force the door shut, someone pushed through, slamming the door in their wake.

My heart raced when I realized I was trapped in this room with someone else. But when I turned around and saw who had entered, all the blood drained from my face. I staggered back until my back hit the wall beside the washer.

The flames from the fire pit outside illuminated the dark room, enough that I could clearly see who had invaded my moment of weakness.

The same boy who caused it.

Rune stood before me, beside the closed door. Reaching out, he flipped the lock. I swallowed as his face turned back to look at me. His jaw was tense and his blue eyes were firmly fixed on me. His stare was ice-cold.

My mouth went dry. Rune took a step forward, his tall, broad body closing in on me. The pounding of my heart swept the blood through my veins, its heady sound roaring in my ears.

As he approached, my eyes lowered to take in Rune’s mostly bare arms: his toned, lean muscles were corded by the tension from his balled fists, the black t-shirt showcased his firm torso, his smooth skin still retained the tint of a fading tan. In the signature move that always brought me to my knees, he lifted a hand and raked back his hair from his face.

Swallowing hard, I tried to find the courage to push past him and run away. But Rune walked forward until there was no way out for me—I was trapped.

My eyes were wide as he focused on me. Rune moved forward until we were merely inches apart. This close, I could feel the heat radiating from his body. This close, I could smell his cool scent: the one that always brought me comfort, the one that took me back to lazy summer days spent in the blossom grove. The one that brought back, in full Technicolor, that final night, when we’d made love.

I felt my cheeks flood with heat as he leaned in close. I smelled the faint hint of tobacco on his clothes, and a trace of spearmint on his warm breath. My fingers twitched at my sides as I gazed at the stubble on his jaw and chin. I wanted to reach out and touch it. Truthfully, I yearned to raise my hand and run a finger over his forehead, down his cheeks, and across his perfect lips.

But as soon as I thought of those lips, the pain sliced back through my heart. I turned my head, closing my eyes. He had touched Avery with those lips.

He had broken me by giving away those lips—those lips were supposed to be mine forever.

I felt him close in, until our chests almost brushed. I felt his arms rise over my head, landing on the wall above me, crowding every inch of my personal space. And I felt strands of his long hair drift across my cheek.

Rune’s breathing was labored, his minty breath ghosting across my face. I squeezed my eyes even tighter. I felt him so impossibly close. But it was no use; of their own accord and ruled by my heart, my eyes slowly opened and I turned my head, our gazes crashing together.

My breath caught in my throat as the shadows from the fire outside flickered over his face. Then my breathing seemed to stop entirely when one of his hands moved from above my head, traveling hesitantly down to stroke over my hair. As soon as I felt him take a strand between his fingers, shivers broke out over my body and butterflies swooped around my stomach.

I sensed he wasn’t faring any better; deep exhales and the tensing of his jaw were clear giveaways. I stared at his handsome face as he studied mine, both of us taking in the effects of the last two years: the changes, yet better still, the aspects that were completely familiar.

Then, when I wasn’t sure my confused heart could take any more, his gentle touch left the safety of my hair to drift onto my face, and pass feather-light fingers over the apples of my cheeks. His fingers stopped, as he whispered one word, one emotionally packed word, in the most painfully desperate, graveled voice…: “Poppymin.”

A teardrop escaped from my eye and splashed onto his hand.

Poppymin.

Rune’s perfect name for me.

My Poppy.

His girl.

For infinity.

Forever always.

A lump clawed its rapid way up my throat as that sweet word sailed into my ears, piercing my soul. I tried in earnest to chase it down to join the rest of the pain of the last two years, but overpowered and totally defeated, I could not, and a long-caged sob slipped out.

With Rune so close, I never stood a chance.

As the loud cry escaped my lips, Rune’s eyes lost their coldness and softened to shine with unshed tears. His head tipped forward, and he pressed his forehead to mine, bringing his fingers down to press over my lips.

I breathed.

He breathed.

And, against my better judgment, I let myself pretend that the last two years had never happened. I let myself pretend that he hadn’t moved away. That I hadn’t had to move too. That all the pain and the suffering had never been felt. And the bottomless black void that had replaced my heart was filled with light—the brightest light possible.