“Okay, okay. As long as you’re sure.” Amber holds up a hand, then reaches up over her head and stretches her spine out with a cereal-like pop. It makes me shudder, the sound of her spine and vertebrae doing their song and dance.

  Gross.

  “I’m sure. We’re going to talk tomorrow and according to you, I should just lay it all out there.”

  “Yeah, just lay it all out there.” Amber swipes her hand out across the air, like she’s laying out a pizza dough or something. “Tell him how you feel, and Jesus, just listen at first, let it sink in. Then make your decision. This shouldn’t be a punishment forever, you know, it should be something that you both work through to become a better couple, to figure out a way to deal with situations like this.”

  I nod, because yeah, it makes sense. “It just kills me to know that he thinks I would do that to him, that I would cheat on him. And yeah, I didn’t divulge who I am because I do have to keep that part of my life under wraps, but shit, to cheat on him? You’d have to be stupid to cheat on him. Plain dumb. Nothing else makes sense.”

  “You don’t know what happened between the two of them, we can’t make assumptions,” Amber says, ever the voice of reason, the grown-up across the three of us. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all. So all I’m saying is to be careful. Don’t let this be a punishment that you have to work to get out of. This is as much about his issue as it is yours. Just explain it all to him, and see how he responds. I don’t want you to end up with a jerk that’s going to ruin your life and make you upset and unhappy. No, just no.”

  I nod, holding out my hand palm up. And my super-schooled older cousin, Amber Prewitt, owner of a thousand university degrees and book-smarts up the ass, claps my hand in a weak high-five instead of grabbing it like I wanted her to.

  It makes me laugh, and laugh, and laugh hard enough to clutch at my belly and my abs to get a workout from hell, unable to stop as I keep picturing her face when she slapped at my hand, like we were giving each other high-fives instead of holding hands for support.

  I eventually control myself again, wincing as my abs ache deep inside my body, making it hard to catch my breath for the crunching pain. “Shit, that was funny, oh my god.”

  “I seriously thought you wanted a high-five, but it wasn’t a high-five, just a hand out, and I literally could have handed you the remote for as much as that made sense to me. Why am I like this? Why?”

  “I don’t know, man. We all can’t have everything, you know?”

  Amber nods, biting at her lip. “Do you know what you’re going to do when he calls you tomorrow?”

  I nod slowly. “I’ll take your advice. Looks like I’m just going to pull an Amber Prewitt—wing it and hope for the best.”

  NINETEEN

  I’m doing push-ups—a whole twenty in a row for me (on my toes!), a new personal record—to get ready to march over to Michael’s place and knock that door right down.

  I figure if I get a good muscle pump going, in effect making myself look bigger than I actually am, a total puffer fish move, I can somehow (irrationally so) intimidate Michael into forgiving me for lying about my job, and my secret online identity.

  I squeeze out one more push-up, my chest muscles in agony so that I have to extend my arms out and back to stretch out the tightness there, sitting on my knees when the knock on the door comes.

  Food. Glorious food.

  I’m going to eat a healthy meal so I don’t say anything out of hangriness to Michael, to spit out what I want to say, because this whole winging it thing has me nervous, nervous as all hell. So I’m preparing my body as much as I can.

  I’m wearing my new leggings that I splurged on (and even though they’re grossly overpriced, I find myself checking myself out in the long mirror to see how the material hugs my legs and ass), and a giant hoodie that I’m already starting to sweat in. I wanted to wear comfy clothes and no restrictions to my movement if I lose my mind and jump his bones because I’ve missed him so much without properly apologizing first.

  I get the door unlocked, swinging it open, halting, my mind trying to catch up with what I’m seeing.

  “Michael,” I gasp, like the very wind’s been punched out of me, struggling to catch my breath now. “Michael…what? What are you doing here?” I’m palming the doorknob hard enough that my hand gives a hot flare of pain, but I can’t let go when it feels like it’s the only thing holding me up.

  Michael looks beautiful, even if there are dark circles under his eyes, and his golden skin’s paled out so that scar on his upper lip looks even more pronounced. He’s got some dark stubble coming in, too, along his jaw, chin and upper lip (except where the scar is), and he looks so heart-achingly beautiful that I don’t know what to do with myself. He’s wearing black jeans, slim fit, the kind that shows off all the muscles in his legs, even if he’s wearing a giant hoodie, too, sock-clad feet stuck into a pair of slides for the trip over.

  “Can I come in? Would that be okay?”

  I usher him inside, pulling in a deep breath, my mind racing as I try to figure out how I’m going to be able to beg for his forgiveness while on home turf. I’m not prepared for this, not at all.

  I didn’t expect him to come to me.

  But here we are.

  “Do you want anything to drink, eat? I’ve ordered some sushi, and you’re more than welcome to have some when it gets here.”

  Michael looks at me, those golden eyes sad. He holds out his hand, and I look down at it, trying to see where the trap is.

  It’s gotta be some sort of trap, right? Just when I was getting ready to make my own move, he beats me to it, and now I can’t find my own freaking footing.

  Michael drops his hand after I stare too long at it, like an idiot, rubbing his thighs as he takes a seat on my couch, holding himself tightly, spine ramrod straight. He looks uncomfortable, if I were to pin a word to it, and I don’t know how to feel about that.

  I’m completely lost, actually, what with the expecting food and then getting a whole Michael Nash instead.

  “Can we talk?” he asks, and I grunt in response, making my way over to the farthest corner of the couch and plopping down, bringing my legs up and crossing them so I’m super comfortable, the exact antithesis to his own posture. I plant my elbows on top of my knees, cradle my face with my hands and wait, and wait.

  “I thought we were going to talk,” I say, breaking the silence.

  Michael shakes his head and turns his big body as if he’s moving a great weight, keeping it steady before he looks at me. His golden eyes hold a wealth of pain in them and that’s when the alarm bells start clanging in my head.

  “Did you get hurt? Michael, did you get hurt!?”

  “I, uh…” My heart thumps harder with every single beat of silence as he licks his lips, opens and closes his mouth, then takes a deep breath. I’m going to start screaming in frustration any second now, any freaking second.

  “I got hit by a car.”

  I blink at him, snort, sure he’s joking, gaping at him when he just lets the words hang in the air like that. “You. You got hit by a car? When? How? What the hell, Michael?”

  “It was the reason why I couldn’t message you back. I’ve been in the hospital for a few days. I hit my head pretty hard and I was unconscious for some of it. My parents couldn’t even get a hold of me.”

  “Hold on, what happened? Where did this happen?” I hold my hands out, as if wanting to touch him, to press down against his skin to feel where all the bruises are and to make sure that he’s all right, that he’s okay. Tears start welling in my eyes, a sharp, vicious pain expanding in my chest as I think about not having him around permanently. “How could this happen to you? How?”

  “Sweetheart,” he says, and I just make some sort of animal noise in the back of my throat, a mish-mash of pain and sorrow and the kind of grief over the what could have beens even if he’s sitting right here in front of me. “I’m okay.”

  “But you could have not been okay,” I groan, crawling forwards now, stopping just shy of touching him. “What happened, where else are you hurt?”

  “I didn’t get any broken bones, which is lucky,” he says, and I hate how he’s so calm about this, while I’m losing the battle of keeping my tears at bay. Michael’s the kindest, sweetest person I know, how could this even happen to him? How? Why?

  What bullshit timing was this?

  “My whole body’s sore, and I’ve got some wicked bruising on my right side. But the doctors ran all the tests, no internal bleeding even though I have a mother of a concussion. So they kept me in a couple of nights at the hospital for observation. I was let go this morning. I’m sorry I couldn’t message you back. I didn’t mean to give you the silent treatment, that was never my intention.”

  I hold out both of my hands palms up, and Michael places both of his hands in mine, and I try very hard not to keep a death grip on him, to hurt him even more even if it’s the only part of him I can hold onto right now. My heart aches, and my eyes are leaking, my nose is starting to leak and I’m losing the battle of keeping my emotions under wrap.

  Was this what Amber said about winging it? Because it feels like I’m making a mess of all this shit.

  “You could have been killed,” I murmur, glancing down at his giant hands cradled in my own, the way I keep stroking over his ham knuckles with my thumbs. He’s always been so big and strong, and yeah gentle, but that’s nothing in the face of a car.

  “You could have been killed and you wouldn’t even know about how much I love you,” I moan, leaning down enough to press my forehead against his hands, crying in earnest now, because all of this sucks, and I’ve been waiting for someone like him for what feels like forever and he was almost taken away from me.

  Again, what kind of bullshit timing is that? Bullshit!

  “Who’s going to kick my ass in the gym, huh? Who’s going to make sure I eat and stay hydrated and have to pee all the time, and who’s going to cuddle me when it’s cold? Who’s going to take care of you, huh? I want to make sure that you get to satisfy your sweet tooth at least once every two weeks because you work so hard and I think you deserve it. It would be even better if I knew how to bake, or at least tried to bake, but I haven’t pulled the trigger on that yet. You’re such a good person, Michael, I swear, it boggles my mind sometimes, how you’re so kind without having to try at it.”

  “Sweetheart—” he tries to interrupt, but I just lift my head to look at him, my chin wobbling.

  I shake my head, cutting him off. “I just…I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt, or dying. God, you could have died. You were in the hospital and I didn’t even know.”

  “I almost ended up losing my phone in the snow, so I had my dad go get me a new one since the previous one was damaged, but the card was all right. Yours was basically the only phone number I remembered off by heart, and I read your latest texts and felt like shit.”

  “You actually remembered my phone number? Wow.” I know I don’t remember anyone’s numbers, not even the home phone number except the last four digits.

  “Yeah. It just so happens that I’m love with you, too.”

  I gulp down a sob, pressing my forehead back down to our clasped hands. “I thought you’d be mad at me forever.”

  “No, no. I swear, I didn’t mean to give you the silent treatment, it just happened ’cause I lost my phone and was in the hospital. I would never do that to you, I hate having it being done to me, fuck, I would never do that to someone else.”

  “Good,” I nod, lifting my head, not wanting to let go of his hands to swipe at my face. It’s fine, it’s just some tears, and impending snot. We’re good. He’s alive and he’s here, and he loves me and I love him and we can get through this, we can.

  “Because I should apologize for not telling you about my alter-ego, I know, but I also needed my privacy. I would have told you one of these days, but it felt a lot like you were blaming me for what she had done, you know? And I got angry and even though I sort of wanted to stay and fix it, I also wanted to give you your space.” I sigh, letting go of one of his hands to grab the tissue box on the side table, mopping up my face to the best of my ability and fixing my nose.

  “I just…I am sorry I didn’t tell you, but you have to believe that I wouldn’t withhold any kind of important information when it comes to you, that I never have. I’ve been emotionally constipated in the past, but you make me feel safe, Michael, you do. And I’ve been pretty transparent about my feelings. I think. I don’t know. You tell me.” I nod to him, seeking out his feedback.

  “It’s my own shit that I have to deal with, and I’m sorry I made you feel like I was comparing you to her. I never meant to do that intentionally, but I did anyway. I’m sorry, and I’m happy to be here, with you.”

  I keep mopping up at my face. “Stop making me cry. I’m still getting over the shock that you were in the hospital. Jesus Christ, I’m so angry. Who’s the guy who hit you? I want to talk to him.”

  “It was some poor kid, not paying attention. Don’t be too mad, I’m all right, really.” He frowns at me. “You can hug me, you know. I’ve missed you.”

  “Yeah, well, I missed you, too, but I’m not touching you until I speak to a doctor.” I shake my head, practically vibrating with the need to hug him tight, tight. “I’m okay with holding your hand for now. Or do you want to go lie down in bed, watch a movie on the TV I practically never use? Wait, the food should be here soon, so let’s eat first, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Let me just go get some acetaminophen from my place,” he says on a grunt, crunching a little to get upright.

  “I do, in fact, have over-the-counter painkillers,” I inform him, bouncing up off the couch to go into my bathroom medicine cabinet. “Extra strength, okay?”

  Michael’s eyebrows pinch together. “Why do you have extra strength? Did you get hurt and didn’t tell me?”

  “Superman,” I say, watching his cheeks get red and leaning down to gently kiss his heated cheek. “I have terrible period cramps, the worst, and nausea galore. I have extra strength because that’s how shitty it gets for me a few days a month.”

  “Holy shit, that sounds horrible. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I nod and shrug. “I’ll let you know when you have to be extra nice to me, buy me chocolates and chocolate cake with more chocolate on top.” I sit next to him, handing him a glass water bottle from the fridge and handing off the pills.

  “I’ll buy you hot chocolate, too, to go with the chocolate cake.”

  “Stop talking about chocolate,” I say, kissing his cheek again (so very gently and carefully) until he turns his head towards me for a kiss on the mouth. “I’m sorry about not telling you that I’m NIKTORIOUS. I just wanted to be Vick, well, uh, Victoria.”

  “And I’m sorry that I thought so badly of you, that you would hurt me like that. Just please, be patient with me.”

  “I will, I promise.” My phone starts buzzing on the table, and I let the delivery guy inside the building with a swipe on my phone. “Food’s here.”

  We share sushi, me feeding Michael, wanting to dote on him and have him eat his fill before I get my own sushi. Since he’s so much bigger than me, he can pack it in.

  Michael, of course, is having none of it, making sure that for every piece of sushi I give him, I get one in return. I fill up on sweet potato tempura and won ton soup, eating my fill.

  Michael takes the pills after he’s eaten, and while he tries to fight the drowsiness after having a full meal and the drugs start to kick in. I lead him to my bedroom and help him take off his jeans so he doesn’t have to bend over too much.

  “I’ll be honest, I probably don’t have anything that’ll fit you on top, but I don’t know if you want to keep that hoodie on. As you can see, I sleep in a blanket fort and I’m sure you’re gonna start sweating.”

  His blush is adorable, and he hesitates one last time before nodding and dragging his hoodie off as much as he can before I have to take over. When we drop it down to the floor together and Michael’s hair’s sticking up on end from all the static, I lean up on my toes and kiss his chin, the only place I can reach without some cooperation on his end.

  It doesn’t matter, we’ll be snuggling soon, and I can’t wait.

  We get into my bed with a pile of all my pillows supporting Michael so he’s half-reclined and I have to recruit my deep-winter stash of extra pillows for when I want to be cocooned on either side of my body when I’m sleeping.

  “I feel a little underdressed,” he says, laughing weakly, glancing away when I grin at him.

  “I’m not going to take your virtue, Superman. We’re just going to snuggle, and watch…Pacific Rim? Die Hard 3?”

  Michael lifts his chin, shrugs his shoulders, and sighs deeply when he gets more comfortable against the pillows. “You know, I was walking back home to come and see you on Christmas Day, and then I got hit by a car.”

  I freeze, heart hammering in my chest, beating hard and fast. “Did you…did you ask yourself if it was because of timing, like, we weren’t supposed to get back together? That I wasn’t supposed to be a part of your life?”

  “Did you ever think that of me?” he asks, and I have to squeeze the words out past the flaring pain in my tightening throat.

  I shake my head. “No, I want to be here, with you. Even if my life is unconventional and I’m looking to get back into random tournaments just to keep my presence known, keep my stats up, too. I’m gonna be sleep-deprived again, soon, but the real question is if you’re gonna catch me if I pass out again?”

  “No, please, please don’t pass out again. It was one of the scariest moments of my life.”

  I groan. “You literally just got hit by a car.”

  “Yeah, I did. And when I was on the ground, too scared to move and then the pain kicked in, I didn’t think about timing or any of that shit. All I could think about was coming back here, to see you, to be with you, to love you. Is that okay with you?”