Page 85 of Heartbeat

“Why didn’t your brother like him?”

“Well, Liam was afraid he’d end up hurting me. Most of my friends thought he would.”

“Did he?”

“He kind of did, but it wasn’t all his fault. See, Christopher, Summer…that was on me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I thought I could bypass the fact that I didn’t really feel anything by starting something in the hopes that my heart would…catch up. It just never did.”

“You wanted to jump-start your own heart?”

“Kind of? Then, after Liam died, I wasn’t able to feel anything anymore, and that just goes to show how the universe can be perverse, in terms of humor.”

“Not always though.”

“Not always,” I agreed, going silent for a few moments. “He would’ve liked you, though, Liam would’ve.”

“You think?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“So, this…”

“Is different.”

“Is it okay if I ask why? I gotta say I’m a bit nervous, all of a sudden.”

He was. His breathing was a bit heavier; it was actually kind of cute. Thing is, so was mine.

“I’ve never felt this,” I confessed. “It’s…terrifying.”

He chuckled. “Terrifying?”

All I could do was nod.

“Why terrifying?”

“Because you’re wrong. About me. And I—I don’t think I want you to realize it just yet.” I was fully aware of what my eyes were trying to do.

I took a deep breath and chose to ignore it, hoping he would too. He didn’t say anything. He simply held me tighter. As we watched Eve and Adam dancing to Denise LaSalle’s “Trapped by a Thing Called Love,” Ethan took his laptop and carefully placed it on the nightstand. He then turned to me, leaning in slowly, until our lips barely met.

“I’m not wrong,” he said with such warmth. “Not about you. Not about this.” He shook his head.

“Ethan…”

“I’m not wrong, Tom,” he said softly before finally kissing me.

Chapter Seventeen

This. You. Here.

I could hear the rain falling outside. Slow, steady, with a cadency to it that was borderline hypnotic. I stretched my arm out to the other side of the bed only to find it empty, so I pulled down the duvet that was covering my entire body, and for a second, as my eyes adjusted to the faint morning light, I wasn’t entirely sure whether I was alone or not.

It didn’t take me long to find the note Ethan had left. He’d stuck a Post-it on the window, just above the bed, and it was the second thing I saw—the first being my phone, lighting up as it danced on the nightstand. After purposefully pretending not to have seen the number 17 next to the word Messages on the locked screen, I turned to what was really worth reading: my Post-it.

“I’ve never felt this either”

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