In Harmony

My face crumpled with the strain of holding back the tears. I shook my head until I could speak.

“You can’t lose me, Isaac,” I said in a broken whisper. “You’re my until. The one that makes everything better.”

He held my gaze for a moment, then his head bowed. “Christ…”

I went to him, to hold him in my arms, my tears spilling over now, but he fell to his knees first. Wrapped his arms around my waist, buried his face against my middle, holding tight to me, his shoulders shaking.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, over and over. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry.”

I cried and reached to touch him. Tentatively at first, my fingers in his hair, remembering the softness. My touch trailed down his back, remembering. His shoulders, remembering. I dropped to my knees, my hands touching his face now, my eyes tracing every part of him, remembering.

His tears were rain in the stormy gray-green of his eyes. A tempest of pain and regret and three years lost. But beneath that, love.

The love was there first.

“I’m sorry, too,” I whispered. “I love you. I will never stop loving you.”

His hands came up to hold my face. His palms spread wide, remembering. His broken voice wrapping around my name.

And he kissed me.

Isaac…

A little sound fell out of me just as he made a noise deep in his chest.

God, it’s him.

My eyes fell shut, remembering the feel of his mouth on mine. A sweet ecstasy. A give and take of himself for me, and me for him. Tasting him—the salt of his tears and a small tinge of blood. The gulf between us finally bridged, letting him come back to me on a flood of sense memories.

Nights in the dim of the theater, speaking centuries’ old lines with modern emotion. The block at the amphitheater and his hands helping me down, touching me for the first time. The scent of the hedge maze in our noses as we kissed. The cemetery where I’d told my story and he took it from me without recoiling or thinking me ruined. And our dance on a hill, Harmony laid out below us in the dark.

We kissed through tears. We kissed though we could hardly breathe, arms wrapped tight, clinging to one another because to let go again was impossible. We kissed until the exhaustion of the night was too much.

Isaac slumped against the side of my couch, taking me with him. He pulled me onto his lap sideways, my head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. His arms held me tight and my hands made fists in the back of his shirt.

“I’m so tired,” I said.

“I know you are, baby. Me too.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

I led him to my bedroom. We parted just long enough for me to change out of my dress and draw on a T-shirt over my underwear. When I came out of the bathroom, Isaac had stripped down to his undershirt and boxers. Same as he had on that night three years ago. Only this time, nothing would wake us in the middle of the night to tear us apart.

We curled our sides, facing each other, our hands entwined and legs tangled. Kissing until fatigue finally took Isaac under, his lips still on mine.

“You fell asleep on me,” I murmured against his mouth. “In the middle of kissing.”

I drank him in a few moments more, then rolled over to tuck my back against his chest.

“Willow,” he said, against my neck.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

I laughed in my throat, too tired to do anything else.

“Have to tell you something,” he said. “Very important.”