Chapter 216
Summer's POV
"You fit into my world." I was crying now, couldn't stop the tears even though I hated how weak they made me feel. "You are my world, Kieran. You and Mia and your mom and Lily. That's what matters to me. Not—not whatever that was back there."
"Summer—"
"I don't want perfect," I said again, more firmly this time. "I don't want easy. I want you. Even when you're being stubborn and stupid and trying to protect me from yourself. I want you."
He looked at me for a long moment. The last rays of sunlight were slanting through the narrow window, turning the dust motes into tiny stars. His face was half in shadow, but I could see the conflict there. The want and the fear and the desperate hope he was trying so hard to bury.
"The flowers," I said, softer now. "The ones you brought. Where are they?"
His jaw tightened. His gaze flickered sideways, toward the dumpster near the shed.
"I threw them out."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I followed his glance and saw them—a crumpled bundle of newspaper and wilting stems, half-hanging over the edge of the bin.
"You threw them away?"
"They were cheap." He wouldn't look at me. "After seeing his—I figured you wouldn't want them anyway."
"They were perfect." My voice cracked. "Because you picked them. For me."
"Summer—"
"Stop." I closed the distance between us, close enough to feel the heat coming off him, to smell that soap-and-mint scent that made my head spin. "Listen to me. I don't care if they cost two dollars or two hundred. I don't care if they came from a gas station or some fancy florist. You chose them. You brought them here. You came to see me perform."
His throat worked again. I could see him fighting it, fighting the urge to believe me.
"That matters," I whispered. "You matter. More than anything else."
For a long moment, he just looked at me. And then, slowly, carefully, he reached up and touched my cheek. His fingers came away wet.
"You're crying," he said. His voice had gone soft, gentle in a way that made my chest ache.
"Because you're being stupid."
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I leaned into his touch, letting myself feel the roughness of his palm, the warmth of his skin. "The stupidest."
"I'm sorry." The words came out rough, scraped raw. "I just—when I saw him with you, I thought—"
"I know what you thought." I caught his hand, held it against my face. "But you were wrong. You're always wrong about this. About us."
"Maybe." His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, catching another tear. "But can you blame me? Look at you. Look at where you come from. And then look at me—"
"I am looking at you," I interrupted. "And I love what I see."
His breath caught. For a second, just one second, I thought he might argue again. Might try to push me away.
Instead, he pulled me into his arms.
The embrace was tight, almost desperate. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, could feel the way his hands shook as they pressed against my back. He buried his face in my hair, and I felt him take a shuddering breath.
"I'm sorry," he said again, muffled against my shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I just—I got scared. Seeing you up there, so beautiful and perfect, and then him—"
"Shh." I wrapped my arms around his waist, held on tight. "It's okay. We're okay."
"Are we?"
I pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale. He looked young and scared and so, so vulnerable.
"Yes," I said firmly. "We are."
He searched my face like he was looking for a lie, for some sign that I didn't mean it. But I met his gaze steadily, let him see everything I felt.
Finally, finally, he nodded.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."
I reached up and wiped at his cheek, where a single tear had escaped. "You're not allowed to throw away flowers I want ever again. Got it?"
A real smile this time, small but genuine. "Got it."
"And you're not allowed to decide what's good for me. That's my job."
"Bossy."
"You love it."
"I love you," he corrected, and the words sent a rush of warmth through me that had nothing to do with the stuffy air in the equipment shed.
"I love you too," I said. "So much it scares me sometimes."
His arms tightened around me. "Yeah. Me too."
We stood there for a while, just holding each other as the last of the sunlight faded. Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of cars leaving the parking lot, people heading home. But in here, in this dusty, cramped space, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.