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He grabbed my hand and pulled me into an embrace. “I haven’t done anything to you . . . recently,” he said innocently. I tried to push away from his embrace but he held me tight. “Uhhh . . . this?” I tried to indicate his arms around me, but couldn’t move very well. He laughed and kissed my jaw. “We do this all the time. Sometimes we do more. . . .”
I knew that we were borderline friends, occasionally drifting into something more. I realized that what we were doing—flirting, being so close all the time—was dangerous and stupid, like tempting fate. I knew it; I just couldn’t stop it.
“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, searching my eyes. He looked very pale and very scared, and a little . . . hopeful.
“I’m so in love with you, Kiera. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I say awful things to you. I’m sorry I lied about your sister. . . . I never touched her. I promised you I wouldn’t. I couldn’t let you know . . . how much I adore you . . . how much you hurt me.”
I stopped laughing and gazed at him. “No . . . no, you’re so much more.” My tone got serious on me. He nodded, not laughing anymore as well. “Good, because you mean everything to me.”
The love we felt for each other, while definitely never planned or expected, as I suppose most love isn’t, had irrevocably seared us both . . . to the core. It wouldn’t fade. It wouldn’t shift to another. It probably wouldn’t always be easy . . . but it would always be . . . always.
