Page 112 of A World Without You
“Who was driving?”
She doesn’t speak.
“Who was driving?” I repeat with more force.
“You,” she answers.
TWENTY-FIVE
Saturday, December 23rd
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IREACH FOR BENNETT’Sside of the bed as soon as my eyes open. The sunlight is barely peeking through the hotel curtains, but his side of the bed is empty. I slip out of bed and search for him in the small seven-hundred-square-foot space. The bathroom is empty, his belongings are still here, and I feel like I just woke up from a wild fever dream that will make sense to absolutely no one.
Three quick knocks on the door and it swings open. My heart pounds louder than the creek of the heavy hotel door swinging open. Bennett stands there with two coffees and two covered takeout containers of food.
I step toward him with tears in my eyes. At first, his eyes are confused, but then they brighten, like he’s thrilled to see me. It pales in comparison to how I feel seeing him. I throw myself at him, smashing my face against his chest, my arms wrapping tight around him, and I immediately start sobbing. He sets the coffees and food on the table by the door. Only a little coffee sloshes out over the hole on the top of the coffee mug.
Bennett cups a strong yet gentle hand over my head, shushing me and whispering, “Hey... Liv, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I manage to say through strangled vocal cords. My hands travel from his shoulders down his arms to his hands. My fingers trace the ink of his tattoos, still perfect on his skin. He grips my hand as I lace my fingers in his.
“What’s wrong—did something happen?” He continues to stare at me, confused, but when he meets my eyes, a calm recollection seems to wash over him. “You found me.” A weighted statement and I can tell he fears the answer of where he is in that world—the one I’ve been chasing.
I cry into his chest, holding him as tight as my arms can. Finally, I nod, saying, “I found you.”
He tilts my head up with a finger. “Liv, I’m here. I’m fine.”
But nothing is fine. The memory of last night still feels so real, so raw. A sob bursts out of me and I run my hand over his body like I’m still checking him for injuries, amazed to find him intact.
I stare up at him, and he doesn’t hesitate to kiss me. His lips ignite a fire I only just found in him. It’s hot and heavy and aches deep in my belly, and turns my legs to liquid. He runs a hand down my waist, and I pull at his shirt until it’s over his head. He slips his hands under my shirt, and I bite his lip, sucking and pulling hard.
“Liv,” he murmurs, but I don’t stop moving, touching, memorizing the freckles on his nose, the glint in his eyes, and the feel of his hands all over my body.
“Liv,” he says again. “What are we doing?”
