REIKE WON’T ANSWER my calls, because she’s finally traveling to Norway. It might be for the best: I’d just cry at her about neuronal depolarization and electromagnetic induction, which can’t be healthy for me, or edifying for her. I want to visit Guy in the hospital to . . . bring him an Edible Arrangement? Offer my firstborn in penance? Self-flagellate at the foot of his bed? I’m not even sure where they brought him, if he’s still there, and I doubt he wants to see me. Maybe I should text him. Do you hate me for giving you a seizure through my carelessness and sheer incompetence? Yes, No, Maybe, pls circle.
It’s probably a good thing that I’m alone with my thoughts. Paradoxically, it allows me not to think too much. Things, bad things, are going to happen soon. My connection with WWMD will be disclosed, a community I spent years building will turn against me, and I have no illusion that Trevor will renew my contract. It’s staggering, but if I don’t talk about it I can pretend it’s not happening.
I eat a banana—first thing I’ve had in twenty-four hours—and go to my room. I pull my suitcase from under my bed, dust it off, and start folding my clothes. Jeans. Jeans. A skirt I haven’t gotten a chance to wear yet. My favorite teal top. A rain poncho. Jeans.
The suitcase is almost full when my doorbell rings. I sigh and force myself to go to the door, but I suspect I already know who it is. Turns out, I’m right.
“Hey.” Levi looks tired. And like he’s been running a hand through his hair. And very, very beautiful. My heart knots. “You’re not answering your phone. I was worried.”
“Sorry, I forgot to check it. Is everything okay?”
He gives me a slightly incredulous look that I take to mean No, absolutely nothing is okay and follows me into the living room. Through the balcony doors, my eyes catch the hummingbird feeder. I should take it down. Pack it. But the hummingbirds . . . Maybe I could ask Rocío to hang it for me. Wouldn’t want the little guy who’s been coming around to find himself without dinner.
“—from Guy,” Levi’s saying.
I whirl around. “How is he?”
“Fine—discharged. He asked me to tell you not to freak out, and that he probably deserved it. And to thank you for the trip of a lifetime.” Levi rolls his eyes, but I can see the relief in him.
“Can I— Did he say if I can go see him?”
“He’s resting, but we can go tomorrow. He’d love to see you.” His tone hardens ever so slightly. “Bee, he knows it’s not your fault. A million things could have gone wrong, and none are exclusively your responsibility. Boris rushed the demonstration—”
“Because I let him rush it.” I press my fingers into my eyes. “I told him I could make it. And this mess would have happened anyway, just not publicly. I must have done something wrong. I must have forgotten to account for something—I don’t know. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it and I cannot figure out what the fuck I did wrong, which means that someone else, someone who has a clue what they’re doing, should be on this project with you.”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
“What I just said, I guess.” I shrug. “I hope they send Hank. Josh is a prick. And you have to help me ensure that Rocío stays on—she deserves this. And could you write her a rec letter for grad school? I don’t know if mine will—”
“No.” He steps forward and reaches out. His hand comes up to the back of my head, spanning from my nape to the curve of my throat. It feels so . . . normal. Familiar. He is so familiar. “Bee, no one’s going to replace you. BLINK is as much yours as it’s mine. If it weren’t for you, we’d still be stuck.”
“You don’t understand.” I take a step back. His touch lingers until I’m out of reach—until he has to let go. “I’m out. Like Trevor said.”
“Trevor will change his fucking mind.”
“He won’t. He shouldn’t. Levi, today I endangered someone’s safety. I jeopardized the existence of a project that’s your best friend’s legacy.” I press my fingers to my lips. They’re trembling. All of me is trembling. “How can you even want me to stay?”
“Because I trust you. Because I know you. I know the person you are, the scientist you are, and—” His eyes fall on my bedroom. On my almost-but-not-quite-packed suitcase, open on the floor. He stiffens, pointing at it. “What’s that?”
I swallow. “I told you. I can’t in all conscience stay on BLINK anymore.”
He stares at me, open-mouthed, disbelieving. “So you’re packing up and leaving?” The question is aggressive, in a way that makes me think that there are right and wrong answers. I struggle to imagine any besides the one.
“What else should I do?” I shrug helplessly. “What’s the point of me being here?”
In the past two months, I’ve seen a lot of Levi Ward. I’ve seen him happy, focused, upset, sad, exultant, angry, horny, honest, disappointed, and various combinations of all these things. The way he’s looking at me right now, though . . . that’s something else. Beyond all of it.
Levi comes closer and opens his mouth, meaning to say something, then immediately turns around and paces away, shaking his head furiously. He takes a deep breath, and another, but when he looks at me again he’s hardly calmer.
“Are you serious?” Icy. His voice, his eyes, the line of his jaw. Pure ice.
“I . . . Levi. My presence here was always contingent upon my role in BLINK.”
“Was. But things have changed.”
“What has changed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that we’ve been together every second of the past two weeks, that we’ve made love every single night, that I know that you sigh in your sleep, that you floss like a maniac, that you taste like honey everywhere.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “What does that even mean?”
“Are you serious?” he repeats. “All of that—that was just . . . passing time while you were in Houston? Fucking? Is that what it was?”
“No. No. But there’s a difference between just passing time and . . .”
“And staying. And committing. And actually trying. Is that what you mean?”
“I . . .” I what? Am speechless? Confused? Scared? I don’t know what to say, or what he wants. We’re friends. Good friends. Who have sex. Who were always going to go their separate ways—like everyone does. “Levi, this was never meant to . . . I’m just trying to be honest.”
“Honest.” He lets out a noiseless, bitter laugh; stares at the hummingbird feeder, his tongue roaming the inside of his cheek. “Honesty. You want some honesty?”
“Yes. I just want to be as honest as possible—”
“Here’s the honesty: I’m in love with you. But that’s not news. Not to me, and not to you, I don’t think. Not if you’re honest with yourself—which you say you are, right?” My eyes widen. He powers on, ruthless, merciless. Levi Ward: force of nature. Sucking the air out of my lungs. “Here’s something else that’s honest: you’re in love with me, too.”
“Levi.” I shake my head, panic licking up my spine. “I—”
“But you’re scared. You’re scared shitless, and I don’t blame you. Tim was a piece of shit and I want to cut off his balls. Your best friend acted supremely selfishly when you needed her the most. Your parents died when you were a child, and then your extended family—I don’t know, maybe they tried their best, but they completely fucked up at giving you the sense of stability you needed. Your sister, whom you clearly adore, is constantly gone, and don’t think I don’t see the way you obsessively check your phone when she doesn’t reply to your texts for longer than ten minutes. And I get it. Why wouldn’t you be afraid that she’ll be taken away from you? Everyone else was. Every single person you’ve cared about has disappeared from your life, one way or another.” I don’t know how he manages to look so angry, so calm, so compassionate at the same time. “I understand. I can be patient. I’ve tried, will try to be patient. But I need . . . something. I need you to understand that this is not a book you’re writing. We’re not—not two characters you can keep apart because it makes for a literary ending. These are our lives, Bee.”
There’s a tear sliding down my neck. Another, a wet splotch against my collarbone. I screw my eyes shut. “When we went to the conference? And I saw Tim?” He nods. “It was upsetting. Very. But after a while I realized that I didn’t really feel anything for him, not anymore, and it was . . . nice. That’s what I want, you know? I want nice.” I’ve had so little of it. I was always, always being left behind. And the only way to not be left behind is to leave first. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand, sniffling. “If nice means being alone, then . . . so be it.”
“I can give you nice. I can give you better than nice. I can give you everything.” He smiles at me, full of hope. “You don’t even have to admit to yourself that you love me, Bee. God knows I love you enough for the both of us. But I need you to stay. I need you to stick around. Not in Houston, if you don’t want to. I’ll follow you, if you ask me to. But—”
“And when you get tired of me?” I’m a wet, trembling mess. “When you can’t be around anymore? When you meet someone else?”
“I won’t,” he says, and I hate how sure, how resigned he sounds.
“You don’t know that. You can’t know that. You—”
“There hasn’t been anyone else.” His jaw tenses and works. “Since the first moment I saw you. Since the first moment I talked to you and made an ass of myself, there hasn’t been anyone else.”
Does he— He doesn’t mean it. He can’t mean that.
“Yes,” he says ardently, reading my mind. “In all the ways you’re imagining. If you’re going to decide, you should have the facts. I know you’re scared—do you think I’m not scared?”
“Not the way I am—”
“I spent years—years—hoping to find another who could measure up. Hoping to feel something—anything—for someone else. And now you’re here, and—I have had you, Bee. I know how it can be. You think I don’t know what it feels like, to want something so much you’re afraid to let yourself take it? Even when it’s in front of you? Do you think I’m not fucking scared?” He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Bee. You want to belong. You want someone who won’t let go. I’m it. I didn’t let go of you for years, and I didn’t even have you. But you need to let me.”
It’s difficult, looking at him. Because my eyes are blurry. Because he leaves me nothing to hide behind. Because it reminds me of the past few weeks together. Elbows brushing in the kitchen. Cat puns. Fights over what music to put on in the car—and then talking over it anyway. Kisses on the forehead when I’m still asleep. Little bites on my breasts, my hips, my neck, all over me. The smell of hummingbird mint, right before sunset. Laughing because we made a six-year-old laugh. His wrong opinions on Star Wars. The way he holds me through the night. The way he holds me when I need him.
I think of the past few weeks with him. Of a lifetime without him. Of what it would do to me, to have even more and then lose all of it. I think of everything I’ve made myself give up. Of the cats I won’t allow myself to adopt. Of the gut-wrenching work that goes into mending a broken heart.
Levi cups my face, forehead touching mine. His hands—they are my home. “Bee. Don’t take this from us,” he murmurs. Ragged. Careful. Hopeful. “Please.”
I’ve never wanted anything more than to say yes. I’ve never wished to reach for something as I do now. And I’ve never been so utterly, petrifyingly scared to lose something.
I make myself look at Levi. My voice shakes, and I say, “I’m sorry. I just . . . I can’t.”
He closes his eyes, staving off a violent wave of something. But after a while he nods. He just nods, without saying anything. A simple, quick movement. Then he lets go of me, puts his hand in his pocket, takes something out, and sets it on the table. The loud click echoes through the room. “This is for you.”
My heart gives a hard thud. “What is it?”
He gives me a small, pained smile. My stomach twists harder. “Just something else to be scared about.”
I stare at the door long after he is gone. Long after I can’t hear his steps anymore. Long after the noise of his truck’s engine pulls out of the parking lot. Long after I’ve exhausted my tears, and long after my cheeks dry. I stare at the door, thinking that in just two days I’ve lost everything I care about, all over again.
Maybe bad things do come in threes after all.
