Page 162 of How You See Me
“Flight nerves?”
“That and I drove here from the airport instead of hiring someone—figured I should do everything on this spontaneous mission like a normal adult.” She fidgets with the hem of my shirt. “And there’s you.”
“Let’s sit.” I grab my coffee and muffin and guide her toward the small couch in the corner. “Why me?”
“After the way we left things at the hotel and everything you’re dealing with . . . I wasn’t sure how you’d react to me being here.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, the charm bracelet I gave her catching the light and jingling.
“Josie, you’re all I’ve been thinking about. I took off the way I did because it hurt too much. Holding you, knowing I had to let go—it nearly broke me.” I take her hand, gently rubbing my thumb over the top. “I’m sorry if I made you doubt how much I want this.”
“I knew better,” she says quietly. “But a part of me left with you and muddled everything. Talking to you last night helped.”
“I needed you. Still do.”
I thread my fingers through her hair and nudge her close. “I’m so glad you came.”
She leans in, and our lips meet in a kiss that says what words can’t.
“How did you find me?” I settle back and pull her legs across mine. Her warmth and presence soothes me in a way nothing else can.
“The location app you put on my phone after . . .”
“I knew it would come in handy one day,” I say to keep us both from thinking about the night she disappeared. It’s the same app Ava used to track us cross country. “Ava’s going to be excited you’re here.”
“I’d hoped to see her while I’m here. I brought her painting.”
“Want to give it to her now?”
Her eyes reflect a flicker of nerves. “Now?”
I nod. “I need to get back, and I’m not planning to leave your side, so . . .”
“I like the sound of that.” She lets out a squeak and bounces up, standing between my knees. “Let’s go.”
???
Josie’s hand stays tucked in mine as we walk back to the hospital, the spring air doing little to cool the heat in my veins. Not the romantic kind—though that’s there too—but the tight, aching pressure of stepping back into a room that holds everything I love and everything I haven’t forgiven.
The automatic doors open, swallowing us into the sterile brightness of the hospital lobby.
“You okay?” Josie asks.
“I will be.”
When we reach Ava’s room, I stop outside, pressing my forehead to the cool doorframe. Only the faint beep of machines and murmur of voices filter through. My family’s inside. All of them.
Josie flashes me the butterfly sign I taught her, telling me I can handle this. I mirror it and take a cleansing breath.
“Ready?” she asks, clutching the painting wrapped with cupcake tissue paper to her chest.
“Ready.”
Inside, Ava is propped up in bed, arms wrapped around her stuffed giraffe with the IV tree looming like a guardian at her bedside. Kayla and Ava are coloring. Victoria sits cross-legged in the window seat, scrolling through something on her phone, while Raidyn helps Mom sort through the bag they brought from the apartment. Dad’s here, too. On the fringe. Trying.
Ava sees us first.
“Sprinkles!” she squeals, arms thrown wide. Her voice is raspy but full of sunshine.
