His beautiful, beloved eyes bore down into mine, trying to read me in that way I remember like yesterday. Desperate to read me. Hesitantly, his hands lift and cup my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that are dripping from my eyes. “The flare. Was that goodbye, Allie?” His swallow is audible, his gaze nearly deranged with fear, hope, obsession. “Or do you need me?” “I need you,” I wheeze, launching myself at him.
