do put his arm over Celia’s shoulder, nodding at Haven in approval before leading her away. Haven remained in place for a moment as she stared at Carmine, wondering if she even knew the person in front of her anymore. He seemed so different, from his stance to the way he was dressed, all of it foreign. His slumped shoulders screamed with defeat, as he stood seemingly oblivious to anything in the world around him.
Haven took a few steps in his direction but stopped again when he broke his stance, grabbing a rose from the closest display and slowly approaching an adjacent grave. He crouched down in front of the headstone and laid the rose on the ground before running his fingers along the words engraved on the worn white marble.
Haven started his way again, her curiosity fueling her, but stopped after a few steps when realization struck. He had once told her his mother was in Hillside.
Her heart pounded rapidly as she suddenly felt like she was invading his privacy. The memory of him sitting in front of his piano, slumped down and crying on the anniversary of her death came to mind. Pain ripped through her chest.
She immediately took a step back.
Carmine must have sensed her movement, because his body stiffened at that moment, his shoulders squared and head held high as if on alert. Something in the atmosphere shifted—the afternoon sun disappeared behind a thick cloud, encasing the cemetery in gloomy shade. A cool breeze blew through, ruffling Haven’s dress and causing a shiver to run the length of her spine.
It felt like it happened in slow motion as Carmine turned in her direction, their eyes locking across the way. She finally saw his face, taking in the deep frown on his lips and dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. His blank expression changed as he stared at her, distinctive emotions flashing across his face that matched the ones surging inside of her. Shock, disbelief, confusion, desperation, fear, longing, hope, sorrow, grief . . . all of it hit Haven at once as she stared at the broken boy she had once given her heart to—a heart she had never quite got back.
She loved him, just as much as she ever had, and when she saw that same feeling reflected back at her, it all came together. Because despite everything that was different, despite everything that felt unfamiliar, despite the pain and heartbreak, the love was still there.
Finally, something felt right again.
He hesitantly took a step toward her, his movement causing Haven to break into a run. She kicked her shoes off in the grass as she sprinted in his direction, shaking and crying as she rammed right into him. He braced himself in an attempt to keep his footing and wrapped his arms around her, staggering a few steps from the force of the collision. His body violently shook as a strangled sob tore from his chest.
Neither spoke, the lump in Haven’s throat making it impossible for anything to escape but cries. She closed her eyes as he held her, reveling in his familiar scent and body warmth. Despite how vulnerable she knew he was, how shaky the ground was beneath his feet, she felt secure in his arms, like all of her wandering had come down to that moment, in that place, where she finally felt like she was home again.
He was her home. He always had been.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood between his parents’ graves, clinging to each other, all of their hurt, and pain, and heartache expelled through each shuddering breath, each salty tear staining their cheeks. It could have been minutes or hours, but it felt as if time had stopped for them once again.
“La mia bella ragazza,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
The words sent a pang of longing through her body, and she closed her eyes as the electricity of his touch coursed through her veins. “Oh, Carmine.”
He pulled back to look at Haven, his face wet with tears and hair a disheveled mess. She reached up to run her hand through it, cringing as her fingers got tangled in a stiff nest of hair product. “Your hair.”
A sad smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and although he didn’t respond, she knew he understood. He reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks, her eyes fluttering closed from his touch. He ran his fingertips down her jaw, his hand gently exploring her face, before he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
Wiping his tears, Haven explored his face much like he had hers, eyeing the small mark on his cheek peculiarly as she ran her pointer finger across it. She had never seen it before. “You have a scar.”
“You’re beautiful.” He cracked a smile as the blush rose into her cheeks. “You still blush, too.”
“You still make me,” she whispered, surveying him. “You’re wearing a suit.”
Glancing down at himself, he grimaced. “I still hate them, but it’s a funeral.” His voice cracked on the word and he turned away, taking a deep, calculated breath. He gazed past her at something. “You wore high heels.”
“I still hate them, but it’s a funeral,” she said, repeating his words. “You’re not wearing Nike’s.”
“I wish I was,” he muttered. “These fucking shoes hurt my feet.”
She stifled a laugh. “You still say that word.”
“What word?” He raised his eyebrows when she didn’t respond. “I guess you still don’t use it.”
Haven shrugged.
They stood there for a while longer trading observations. It might have been trivial, given the weight of the circumstances, but it was their way of reconnecting. They memorized each other again, becoming acquainted with the things that had changed in their absence as the comfort and familiarity settled back in. Countless times she wondered what she would say if she ever saw Carmine again, musing about what he might possibly say in response, but she never considered that it would be so seamless for them.
They had both changed, and it was obvious, as she stared into his deep green eyes, that there was a darkness lurking inside of him, but it hadn’t consumed him. Carmine’s spirit might have been broken, but his soul remained intact. It was like meeting him for the first time all over again, but knowing in her heart exactly who he was from the beginning.
He was Carmine Marcello DeMarco . . . and even broken, he was beautiful.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, pulling Haven into his arms again. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “This has to be a fucking dream.”