Page 31 of Every Heartbeat After

“Are you saying I look bad in black?”

His answering sigh is two parts exacerbation to one part… nerves? I think? “Tess, you’d look good in a trash bag.”

“A black one, specifically?” I’m picking, but it’s too fun not to when his reactions are written so plainly on his face. I can only hope I have a better hold on my expressions.

The skin between his dark brows folds. “Yes? No? I have no clue what the right answer is to that.” The sunlight glints off his watch face when he flips his wrist and grimaces, then turns to face the back of the boat. His leg starts bouncing. “Is now a bad time to mention that I’m terrified of heights?”

We both watch as Jimmy and his son shake out our sail, prepping it for takeoff. Kit’s biting his bottom lip, and upon further inspection, sweat is beading on his forehead that apparently has nothing to do with the unbearable humidity.

“You do realize you picked this activity, right?”

He mutters something like, “I panicked,” but doesn’t reply otherwise.

I place a hand on his knee and squeeze. His skin is hot to the touch, with flecks of sand still stuck in his leg hair. He changed, too, and likely showered, based on how good he smells. But I know better than anyone that it’s nearly impossible to get every granule off, no matter how thorough a scrubber you are.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” I keep my voice low and steady. Rub my thumb in slow circles on the side of his knee. “I’ll tell them I got seasick.”

“We’re ready for you!” Jimmy hollers.

Kit sighs, and I swear every ounce of oxygen leaves his body. He’s that deflated. “It’s fine. It was a childhood fear. I’m sure I’m over it by now.”

My lips flatten. “Not sure that’s how fears work.”

But it doesn’t matter, because he’s already on his feet and striding toward the end of the boat. It takes a few minutes to get strapped into the harness, but they feel like hours when all I can do is study Kit’s gorgeous face for hints of green. His hair is gel-free today, and I think I prefer it like this. The fluff softens his angular features, reminding me of the boy band crushes of my youth. If we’d met as teenagers, I imagine he would’ve been the quarterback to my cheerleading captain. What a pair we’d have made.

It’s very rare these days that I wish for my life before the accident. I gave up the fruitless practice years ago in exchange for running so fast that the feelings couldn’t catch me. But for a moment, as Jimmy flashes us a thumbs-up and Kit turns to me, seeking comfort, I let myself long for it. That other life, where we met while I still knew who I wanted to be, before circumstances decided who I had to become.

I offer my hand, palm up, to Kit. He grabs on tight without hesitation.

A mechanical whir overtakes the sound of surf and seagulls calling overhead. Soon air replaces the hard surface of the boat beneath our feet. A laugh bursts from my lungs. My hair whips hard and fast around my face, too short after my latest cut for a pony to contain it well. The boat grows smaller and smaller, while the world seemingly expands around us. Or maybe being above it all is the only way to realize we’re not actually the center of the universe. Not even close.

“This is incredible!” I yell. When Kit hasn’t responded after a few pounding heartbeats, I tear my gaze from the ant-size people on the beach. I find him with his eyes closed sucking in lungfuls of air like he might be plunged underwater at any second and need the reserves. “I take it you’re not over the fear?”

He shakes his head. Possibly gags.

I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. It feels awful to be grateful for a moment like this when he feels so absolutely ill, but I am. I’m glad I said yes, so I could see all this. Glad, even, that I’m here to hold his hand.

Would you look at that? Turn me into a balloon and apparently I’ll float away from all my resentment, if only temporarily.

“What would help?”

One eye cracks. Just enough for a flash of hazel to peek through. “Just talk to me. Distract me.”

I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Tell me about your parents. Why don’t you visit them?”

He snorts, which feels like a good sign. “Your idea of a distraction is dredging up my family trauma?”

I wince. “Is there trauma?” Of all people, I should’ve known better. It’s just hard for me to fathom having parents out there in the world, living and breathing, but never seeing them. No matter how busy, which honestly sounded like a cop-out the minute he said it.

A strong gust catches the parasail, yanking us higher so quickly it’s like God himself plucked us up with his giant forefinger. I let out an involuntary whoop. Kit groans.

“Okay, not trauma, per se.” He’s pale as can be, dark eyelashes standing in stark contrast to his sullen cheekbones as he squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Just… I haven’t really gone back since my divorce.”

“You’redivorced?”

He releases my hand to wipe his palm on his shorts. If he was sweaty, I hadn’t noticed. But the absence of his touch? Now that grabs my attention.

“I think this is my worst nightmare.”

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