Page 27 of Falling Into Forever
“Er, Dante. Do you want to talk? Or,” I half whisper, half screech, “even better, can I call someone for you?”
His gaze is wild when it finds mine, holding me hostage in his pain. I don’t even dare breathe.
“I have to call Lena,” he says with broken words that make my palms sweat.
Remembering he doesn’t have a phone because of me, I hand him mine. He takes it but then stares at it, unblinking.
“I don’t remember her number.” His voice is monotonous, flat, and so dang defeated.
I clutch my necklace with one hand while my other curls around my thigh. The pain of my nails digging into my flesh grounds me, allows me to think.
“Did you have an iPhone?”
His lips twitch on one side like that was a dumb question, and he’s trying not to smile.
“What? Not everyone is Apple obsessed.” My tone is haughty, but at least it puts a little life back into his eyes. I don’t even know why I say it other than to disagree with him. I am an Apple girl.
“Says the girl with a MacBook Pro.”
Is he reading my damn mind now? “Not me,” I say with a careless shrug. “Sassy Thompson has a MacBook Pro because she’s testing out formatting software.”
I pointedly ignore how his face lights up when I say my pen name.
Then I get an idea.
“Wait. What if you sign into your iTunes account on my MacBook? Then you can call or FaceTime, right?”
He nods, so I sign out and hand him the computer.
Dante’s large hand encompasses mine in the exchange, and he doesn’t let go. “Do not ever allow anyone to make you feel as though you’re less than or like you don’t deserve the world. Not ever again. Not even me. Do you understand?”
His command leaves me breathless, and my mind spirals as a story unfolds. Images and scenes fly across my vision like a movie reel—so quickly that I can’t keep up.
“Yeah, yes,” I say to get him to release me.
Then, while he navigates to FaceTime, I run across the room for my notebook. Holding it to my chest, I blink away tears and am so taken aback by the action that I almost crash into the side table.
I haven’t cried since Shannon died.
My legs are weak and shaky as I blindly return to the sofa and settle on the far end. The familiar FaceTime ring sounds, but I tune it out, because words are coming and the scenes make sense. I have to get them out before I lose them.
I scrawl notes across the page at an alarming rate as one idea after another pours out of me. From the corner of my eye, I know that Dante glances toward me every once in a while, but I can’t break my concentration. If my hand stops, my ideas may vanish.
That’s how it works. My brain is a bitch sometimes, and she loves to play games with me. One second, I’ll have the most fabulous storyline, then I blink, and it evaporates like it never existed.
I’m not sure how long I plot, but when I finally come up for air, Dante still has his face directed at my laptop.
But it’s not an adult on the other side. It’s a beautiful little girl with eyes so similar to her uncle’s that I do a double-take. Her hair is lighter, and her lips fuller, but there’s no mistaking the relation.
It hurts to breathe watching them, but I can’t tear myself away.
“I’m sorry you have to miss the end-of-school party, Poppy.”
My gaze lands on Dante, and the pain I felt earlier squeezes the air from my lungs.
“It’s okay, Unca. I’m goin’ fishin’ with Grandpa, and I got my pwetty dress on for the pictures, and tomorrow I’m going to wear a party dress and wave to them—”
“Lollipop,” he interrupts, and my ovaries damn near explode.
