In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(126)

He says it quietly, but it’s like a bomb going off.

I freeze. And yet, a warmth starts to bloom in my chest, melting the block of ice in my stomach. And apparently it melts it into tears, because I’m leaking again.

“You do?” I say, stupidly, which I know is not how this is supposed to go.

He shakes his head, like he can’t believe I don’t already know this.

“Yeah. Of course I do. How could I not?”

I throw my arms around his neck and cry into his hair. I have never cried like this in my life. Huge, surging gasps of tears that leave me feeling lighter instead of heavy, hopeful instead of desperate.

“I—I—” I start to say.

“Shh,” Rex says. “You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s hard for you and—”

What I was trying to say is that I know I’m messing this all up. But I don’t need to. Because Rex is holding me close and making the kind of promises that I could never have known how to believe before now.

He leans back, lying down slowly and taking me with him. He pulls the covers over us, enveloping us.

I feel like a washcloth that’s been wrung out, so drained I can hardly do anything except attempt to move every part of my body as close to Rex’s as possible.

“Oh god, I f*cking love you,” I choke out into Rex’s neck, and I can feel his whole body electrify. “I do,” I mutter. Saying the words makes my world tilt to the side. Saying the words is the greatest jolt I’ve ever had. Rex’s arms come around me and pull me down so I’m lying on top of him and he holds me like he’s never going to let me go.





Chapter 16


December



THE NEXT morning, I wake up in Rex’s arms feeling like days have passed. I feel floaty and spacey from crying, a sensation I’d forgotten since I last had it after my mom died. My eyes feel swollen, lashes stuck together with salt and gunk, and my head is muddled. I feel like a soft, cringing snail whose shell has been pried off. But instead of getting out of bed to shower it all away, I force myself to close my eyes and not freak out.

I name the sounds I can hear. Birds. Are the birds in the winter different? I wish I knew something about birds. The wind blowing through the pine trees just beyond the house. A sound that might be snow, but I can’t tell. The hum of the generator. Rex’s breathing. Then I move on to smells. My nose is a little stuffed up from crying and sleeping, but everything smells like Rex’s house. Homey.

Before I make it to breaking down the individual smells, though, Rex stirs next to me and I have to open my eyes to look at him. He’s so beautiful I still can’t believe that I could just reach over and touch him if I wanted to.

I don’t understand the way I feel. It’s no different than yesterday, but everything’s changed. I don’t know what kind of tether love is between us. The man lying next to me… all of his… stuff. Not belongings, but thoughts, feelings, history. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. Am I responsible for it and he for mine? Does love imply a promise of some kind? These are things I feel like I should know, but I just… don’t.

“Hey,” Rex says, and I feel like a bit of a creep for staring at him while he sleeps.

“Hey.” There’s so much I want to say to him, but I’m not sure how to start. “Um,” I say. “Do you think it’s snowing?”

“Yeah,” Rex says after listening for a moment. “I think we’re supposed to get a few inches today.” I stare absently at the window for a minute even though the shade is closed.

“Daniel.” Rex’s warm hand lands on my shoulder. I realize I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday, though Rex must have stripped sometime in the night because he’s in his underwear. “Last night,” he continues. “I meant what I said.” He seems a little anxious, as if I’m going to claim not to remember anything, but he looks right at me.

“Me too,” I say, but I have to look away. I don’t know why I feel so embarrassed, but I do. I fiddle with the edge of the blanket, telling myself that if you love someone, you should probably be able to sustain eye contact with them, but I feel so shy.

“Can you look at me, please?” Rex says, tenderly but with the hint of an order.

I look at him, my heart racing.

“I love you,” he says, and somehow it doesn’t sound like a grenade of found language the way it always does when I hear other people lob it at each other casually. Loveyou, as they hang up the phone; Loveyou, when they’re running out the door. Loveyou, as they race to class, already texting someone else.

No, it sounds like something Rex has made up just now to try and tell me something real.

“I love you too,” I tell him, trying to make the words real also. “I really do,” I add, feeling like my delivery was lacking. I sounded terrified, tentative.

“I believe you,” Rex says, smiling at me. “Come here.” He scooches up to lean on his pillow and pulls me down on top of him. His kiss is sweet and slow and doesn’t demand anything in return.

“I just… I….” I mumble against his mouth.

“What?” Rex asks, stroking my cheekbones. His eyes are so warm, and I remember him telling me he’d do anything for me. I remember him telling me there is no right way to act in a relationship. I remember thinking that those things were easy for him to say, but I couldn’t comprehend them. But maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth all along.