Michael’s face registered confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“No one else does either. Somehow he managed to travel and he’s been frequenting the bridge that spans our rooms. I thought he was a rip. I tried to touch him to make him go away and ended up with a handful of glow-in-the-dark goo.”
His upper lip curled. “Why didn’t I see him?”
“I guess because he didn’t want you to. He must have manipulated the bridge and used it to hide.”
Michael jerked his head in the direction of the window, where Jack could clearly be seen directing a fire truck across the lawn.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
My body went hot with shame. That was a tougher question to answer.
How could I tell Michael that I’d wanted to keep Jack to myself, along with his flattery and attention? I’d thought of him as some kind of guardian angel, and he was nothing of the sort. He was a killer, and he’d been in my home. He’d watched me sleep. I’d been stupid enough to listen when he claimed he wanted to protect me.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. And then—then it started feeling like a lie. Like something I should keep secret. I should’ve known then that it was wrong.”
His expression turned pensive. “We both have regrets about things we didn’t tell each other.”
“In your room, after we kissed …” I trailed off. “You said you wanted to kiss me again. But you knew you weren’t going to come back. Was it just a kiss good-bye?”
“What kind of kiss do you think it was?”
I knew I’d probably be angry later for letting him off the hook so quickly, but my sorrow turned into some kind of giddy relief that started in my toes and jumped directly to my mouth. Uncontrollable and impulsive.
“I hope it was a kiss good-bye. If so, I think a kiss hello is in order.” I fiddled with the knot in my scarf, tightening it, then loosening it. “I mean, I did bring you back from the dead. Basically.”
Michael stared at me for a moment before stepping forward to take my face in his hands. The buzz from his touch almost knocked me off my feet.
“It was a kiss good-bye. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and I didn’t want to die without knowing what kissing you felt like.” He groaned. “It all sounds so dramatic.”
“It was.” I remembered the rending of my heart when I thought I’d lost him. “It was terrible.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve not forgiven you.” I could feel my legs shaking, hear the tears in my voice. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to forgive you, or if I ever will, but I’m so happy that you’re here right now.”
“Emerson—”
“I don’t know what any of this means, but I know that when I thought you were gone, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like half of me was missing.” I kept babbling, my edit button not only broken, but completely obliterated. “I’m seventeen. Who feels like this at seventeen?”
“Em—”
“And as far as Ava is concerned, or Kaleb, I don’t want anyone in the space between us. I—”
“Emerson!” His voice carried urgency.
“What?”
“Please stop talking.” He lowered his lips, stopping just before he reached mine. “I can’t kiss you when you’re talking.”
The joy that rushed through my veins eclipsed the pain of almost losing him. I gave one second of thought to the Emerson outside on the grass, the one who was waking up to grief and loss.
Then I let it go, sinking into the kiss, into his body, now whole and perfect and right in front of me.
We knelt, the door cracked open enough for us to see everything taking place in the yard. The flames were almost out. Vehicles were backing up, making slick, muddy tire treads in the grass. The fire chief was directing the traffic jam. Soot and ash covered his face, and his breath crystallized in the night air as he huffed out orders.
“All we have to do is make it to Liam’s office,” I said. “Cat’s keeping the bridge open.”
“Let me go first.”
I raised one eyebrow.
“I know you can take care of yourself. And me.” He looked outside, leaning to the left and right, watching Landers through an inch of space. “This is a precaution. I know the house and the people who could be in it. You don’t.”
“Point taken.”
I stared at the curve of his lips, not thinking about the bridge or the things we’d have to deal with on the other side of it. Just Michael, how grateful I was that he was alive, how much I wanted to touch him. How much I wanted him to touch me.
He kept his eyes on the activity outside. “Emerson. You can’t look at me like that. Not right now.”
“How do you know how I’m looking at you?”
“I can feel it.” He smiled. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it in his voice. He hooked one arm around my neck and gently pulled me to his side. “Hold it. You only told me one piece of bad news. What else is there, besides the fact that Jonathan Landers has been stalking you?”
“The ripples, they’re changing. We both saw the jazz trio at the opening of the Phone Company, but I’ve seen other things since. The worst happened here, right before I came to save you. This whole room transformed. I looked out the window and saw a scene from at least a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“What?” he breathed out.
“I can’t explain it. It was like I’d traveled back in time.”
“More like time traveled to you.” He paused, thinking. “Rips have been more detailed for me lately, but nothing that intricate. Did you tell Liam?”
I nodded. “He’s worried.”
“That’s saying something. Did he have any explanations?”
“No.”
He let go of me and pulled the door open another half inch. “Looks like all the key players are talking to the fire chief.”
“We can’t go yet,” I protested. The crowd might be thinning out, but the grounds still looked too full to navigate without being noticed.
“We can’t leave Cat holding the wormhole open for much longer. She’s on enemy territory if the people at the Hourglass are still loyal to Landers.”
“Just a few more minutes.”
“Just a few.” He rose and pulled me to my feet.
“Since we’re waiting …” I grabbed the collar of his jacket, stood on my tiptoes, and pressed my lips to his. His skin was cool at first, but heat flared the second we touched. It warmed me to the tips of my toes and fingers, and I’d have bet cold, hard cash my hair was standing on end, light shooting from each individual strand. I didn’t want to open my eyes to check.
He pulled me closer, trailing his mouth along the line of my jaw and down my neck. I held on to his jacket more tightly, pulling him even closer.
“I’m ready to get out of here,” he murmured in my ear. “Get you somewhere I can kiss you properly.”
“This isn’t properly?” I was shaking again. What was it about this boy that made me shake? “If not, can I handle properly?”
