One of Us Is Next(92)
I’m frozen for a few seconds, torn between her total misery and the terrifying void behind her. Then I step forward, ignoring the way my head spins and my stomach dips when I’m right at the edge, and pull her into an awkward embrace. “Hey. It’s okay.” I pat her back as she cries against my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How?” she wails. “Everything is horrible. My dad is dead because of Brandon, and Brandon’s dead because of us!”
“Not you,” I say, but she only sobs harder. I hold her for I don’t know how long, until she’s finally cried out and starts taking deep, uneven breaths. One of her palms is flat against my chest, and she looks up at me through swimming eyes.
“Knox, your heart is beating out of your chest.”
“Yeah.” I blink, trying to get rid of the spots dancing in my line of vision. “The thing is—I’m scared of heights, and this railing is…it does not look safe. Or tall. It’s not really tall enough for my liking.”
“Oh my God.” She lets out a tearful laugh and, to my indescribable relief, pulls me away from the edge until we’re nearly at the center of the roof. “Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve bawled on your shoulder here just as easily.”
“Well, you know.” My dizziness recedes to a manageable level. “I try not to make a big deal out of what a coward I am.”
“Coward?” She stares at me, wiping her cheeks. “Are you kidding me? You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.” I drop my eyes, embarrassed, and she laughs softly. “Do you know what I thought, back there? I thought your heart was beating so fast because of me.”
“What?” I’m so startled that I practically yelp, and Phoebe makes a face.
“You don’t have to look so horrified.”
“I’m not horrified. At all,” I say quickly. “It’s just—that’s not a thing I would consider, even, because…” I trail off and rub the back of my neck with one hand. “I would have no shot, obviously. You’re way too hot for me. Not that I spend a weird or inappropriate amount of time analyzing how hot you are, but—”
And then I can’t talk anymore, because Phoebe is kissing me.
Her mouth is soft and hard at the same time, colliding with mine, and every nerve ending I didn’t know I had catches fire. She tastes like sugar, and she’s all curves and warm skin. She lifts my shirt, trailing her fingers across my stomach and down toward the waistband of my pants, and my brain almost short-circuits. Not entirely, though, because when I lift my hands to cup her face, I feel the wetness of fresh tears.
“Phoebe.” I pull back reluctantly, already missing the feel of her. She’s breathing as heavily as I am and her eyes are glazed. I swipe a thumb across the tear tracks on her face. “That was amazing, but…I think you’re really sad right now. And worried, and just—probably not in a good place to be doing this.”
She lets out a sound that’s halfway between a whimper and a moan. “God, I’m such a disaster. You must hate me.”
“What? No! Are you kidding? Believe me, I would like nothing more than for you to try that again in, say, a week. Or whenever you’re feeling better. If you want to. But if you don’t, that’s okay, too.”
She exhales a shuddering breath. “Do you have any idea how great you are?”
“Not really, no.” I adjust the front of my pants, which is kind of uncomfortable thanks to the bulge Phoebe’s groping brought on. She catches the motion and smirks a little through her tears. “Let the record show, though, that all systems were go,” I add. “In case there was any doubt, after…you know.”
She starts giggling so hard that I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t relieved to see her mood lift. “Oh my God, you actually made me laugh. I wasn’t sure that was still possible.” She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you. I needed this. All of it.”
“Good. I’m glad.” I take her hand and pull her toward the stairwell. “Could we please leave this roof now?”
* * *
—
It’s late when I get home. I’ve been walking everywhere tonight: from the reception to Phoebe’s apartment, and then from Phoebe’s apartment back to my house. It’s been hard to breathe since yesterday, and the cool air helps a little.
My lips are still tingling from Phoebe’s kiss as I open our front door. I’ve relived that moment a few hundred times on the walk home. It was a one-time thing, probably, and that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be awkward. If Maeve and I could make it through the entire school knowing about our not–first time, one sad kiss on the roof is nothing.
And who knows, maybe Phoebe meant it. Wouldn’t that be something?
The kitchen and living room lights are on, and I can hear the sound of some sort of ball game on television when I get inside. It’s past my mother’s bedtime so it’s probably just my dad watching, and he doesn’t like to be interrupted in the middle of a game. I drop my house keys on the table and head for the staircase.
“Knox?” Dad’s voice stops me. Footsteps follow until he’s framed in the kitchen doorway, a bottle of Bud Light in one hand. The faint yellowish glow of our light fixture deepens every crease in his face. “How was the wedding?”