Seven Weeks to Forever, page 17
“I want to take you somewhere,” he says, his hands moving to my shoulders. One of his fingers traces circles on the bare skin of my neck. Tiny shivers run up and down my spine, and I can feel the little electric sparks of our energy where it meets.
“Somewhere?” I repeat.
He doesn’t answer me, though, just lets his fingers move up to my jaw. We’re not going anywhere if he keeps this up.
I try again. “Where?”
“It’s a surprise.” He raises an eyebrow, and I think he’s trying to look mysterious. It makes me laugh. He kisses my forehead and then lets his hands drop to his sides. I don’t really want them there, but it sure helps me think a little more clearly.
“Let me grab my keys before your car runs out of gas,” I tell him.
Once I have my keys and my purse, he takes my hand and leads me outside. We stop beside the car for one more kiss before he’ll open the passenger door for me. It’s a good thing I don’t have to stand for more than a few seconds after that.
“Why do I think you’re taking me up to a city lookout to make out all night?” I ask him when he gets inside of the car.
“We’re going somewhere way better than that.” He turns the key in the ignition and then backs out of the driveway onto the road.
“Give me a hint?”
“Nope.” He reaches over and touches my knee, then brings his hand back to the steering wheel.
I can tell from the streets he takes that we’re headed away from Hollywood and out toward the San Fernando Valley. My suspicion is confirmed when we get onto the I-5 and head north of the city. I wrack my brain trying to figure out what’s out this way.
“We’re going to Six Flags?” I guess.
I hear a quiet laugh. “We’re driving past Six Flags.”
“You really aren’t telling me where we’re going?” I stick out my bottom lip, pretending to pout. That just makes him laugh harder when he glances over at me.
“Nope, so you might as well just enjoy the ride.”
He takes a hand off of the steering wheel to reach over and press one of the stereo buttons. The music of Lazy Monday fills the car and I’m brought back to the first time I saw Riley, not knowing who he was. I remember what I thought of him them. If I hadn’t been sent here to help him, I would never have gotten to know him. It makes me wonder how many other great people I haven’t gotten to know in this life.
But I have reasons, I remind myself. No regrets.
I watch the scenery pass for a few minutes before it occurs to me that this drive feels familiar somehow, in a way I’m having trouble placing. I stop trying to puzzle it out as I hear Riley singing along to the song that’s blasting through the speakers, and I feel warmth spread through me at the sound of his rich voice. I study him as closely as I can without him knowing it.
His energy is fascinating tonight. It’s bright and strong, extending far out around him, and all of it is reflected in the smile that hasn’t left his face since he got to my house. Given the stop-and-go traffic we’re in, I think swearing at some of the other drivers would be completely acceptable. Riley doesn’t even notice them, as far as I can tell.
“Are we going some place you go a lot?” I ask.
“Not telling.” His smile becomes almost smug, in a playful sort of way.
“How long are we driving for?”
He shakes his head at me. “Are you going to start asking me if we’re there yet?” he teases.
“Maybe.”
He moves a hand off of the steering wheel to squeeze my fingers. “Patience.”
It’s a sign on the side of the road that brings the memories I’ve been searching for into my mind with a force that nearly pushes me forward in my seat. I know why this drive feels familiar to me now, but I doubt it’s possible we’re going to the same place it used to take me. This is the route I used to take on my trips out of the city to watch the stars at night the last time I lived in L.A., when I was Anna. There’s a back road I loved deep in the valley, where the lights of the city seemed far enough away to be another world. It felt like the galaxy of stars and planets I could see in the sky shone just for me.
Riley steers the car to an exit off the interstate that I know well. Each turn we make is one I’ve made before, until we’re on the road I used to park my car on when I’d come out here to watch the night sky.
It’s not nightfall quite yet, but the sky is starting to get darker. We drive past the spot where I used to park. After a couple of miles, he slows the car down and turns into a driveway I don’t know. There’s a small house in front of us.
“My lady,” he says, unbuckling his seat belt. “We have arrived.”
“Where are we?” I look out the passenger window. A white feather drifts by, carried by the evening breeze. I’m sure it’s another message for me, if only I could figure out what it means.
“Welcome to my family’s cottage,” Riley says, pulling my attention away from the feather. I stop looking out the window, turning my head back to him. “There’s a meteor shower tonight, and the night sky out here is incredible. It’s so dark that you can see stard—”
“Stardust,” I finish with him. He gives me a surprised smile. “I love stardust.”
His smile grows wider. “Just let me grab a few things from the trunk so we can go star watch.” He reaches for the door handle.
“I’ll help,” I tell him. I unbuckle my seat belt and get out of the car.
He pops open the trunk and I see a few bags inside of it. I peek into one of them and see pillar candles and plastic champagne flutes. There are blankets in the bag beside it, and a lantern and a cooler in the corner of the trunk. Riley grabs the lantern.
“What’s in there?” I ask, reaching for the cooler. He doesn’t say a word as I slide it closer and open the lid. There’s a bottle of sparkling grape juice inside, submerged among melting ice cubes. He reaches across my arm to pluck the bottle out from the cooler and puts it inside of a bag.
“You planned this?” I ask. Even in the growing darkness, I see color rising to his cheeks.
“Shhh,” he says, but he looks proud of himself. I want to grab him by the ears and kiss him until I can’t breathe. I might do it, too, when his hands aren’t full. No one has ever planned a night like this for me. Not in this life, and not in my life as Anna.
He turns on the lantern and shines it ahead of us. “Can you hold this for a second?” he asks, holding the lantern out to me.
I take it from him, and he reaches inside of the trunk to lift out the two bags. With a bag on either arm, he closes the trunk again and reaches out a hand for the lantern.
“You have your hands a little full,” I point out. “I’ve got this.”
I aim the lantern’s beam in front of us and let him the lead the way. He looks ahead to where it lights up our path, careful to guide us over the tree roots sticking out above the ground and holding back branches for me. He stops when we get to a clearing and sets the bags down.
“Can you shine that over here?” He points at a spot in front of him. I swing the lantern beam over to it.
He pulls a blanket out from one of the bags and spreads it out over the ground, careful not to let it pick up any leaves or dirt. The champagne flutes are next, and then the bottle of sparkling grape juice. A second blanket appears from the same bag as the first. He leaves it folded up and puts it on top of the blanket that’s already on the ground. The candles are put into glass jars and placed on the ground, close to the blanket. Removing a lighter from his pocket, he kneels down beside the candles to light each one. Then he stands up and walks back over to me, taking the lantern from my hands and setting it down beside the blanket.
He moves closer to me until our foreheads touch. His mouth grazes mine and I suck in my breath, holding it while his tongue runs across my lower lip. Then both of his lips are crushed against mine, my tongue finding his. I hold onto him, my hands grabbing onto his shirt at first and then somehow finding their way underneath it to press against his skin.
“This is dangerous,” he murmurs, his lips still touching mine. “I shouldn’t kiss you.”
I know what he means. Being alone together in the middle of nowhere without any light but the lantern, the candles, and the stars makes this seem like a fairy tale. If he keeps kissing me like this, we might never stop.
“Then don’t,” I whisper. I feel him smile.
“Is that a challenge?” His moves his head so his mouth is just barely above mine.
“If it is, I’ll bet you fail.” My hands are still under his shirt, holding him close to me.
“Hmm.” His lips move down to my jawline. I want to sink down onto the blankets, but his hands come to my elbows, steadying me. “Funny how failing feels like winning.”
He raises his head, moving it a few inches away from mine. I can hear how quick his breathing is and realize my breath sounds the same. He closes his eyes.
“You can see the stars now,” he says after a minute, opening his eyes again. He sits down on the blanket and pats the spot beside him. I sit, too.
He reaches for the bottle of juice and opens it. I hand him the champagne flutes and he pours each of us a glass, then hands one to me.
“To meteor showers and stardust,” he says, raising his glass to mine.
“To the best night ever,” I reply, clinking his glass. I mean it, too. This is the happiest I can ever remember feeling in my time here as Cassidy or as Anna. I take a sip of the juice, letting the bubbles slide down my throat. Riley reaches for my hand and we both lie back, looking up at the sky.
“I can never get over how beautiful it is,” I murmur, looking up at the millions of tiny lights against the growing darkness.
“More than beautiful.” Riley’s voice is husky. I turn my head to him and see that he’s not watching the sky. He’s staring at me. His eyes lock me in and there’s a pull between us that grows until our bodies are curled together, my hips pressed against his.
It starts with a kiss on my earlobe and his thumb stroking my cheek. Then I’m below him, his lips tracing my collarbone and leaving a trail of kisses up my neck and chin. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he pauses, hovering above me. I trace his mouth with my finger and he captures the tip of it between his lips, holding my eyes with his. I let my hand fall to the ground and his lips finally meet mine.
Maybe it’s because I’m too caught up in a feeling that’s more blissful than anything I’ve felt in The Before, or maybe part of me just intentionally forgets, but I don’t connect with The Life-After when Riley takes me home late that night. When I remember the next morning, I still don’t connect.
Chapter Twenty
Countdown to The Life-After: two days.
Time in The Before is a tricky thing. Sometimes it seems unending, like being in a constant state of waiting for something while the second hand on the clock just barely inches forward. Other times it seems to rush by, and it seems crazy that an entire day has already passed since waking up and that it’s time to go to sleep again. Time is so carefully measured here in The Before, down to the nanosecond. It’s like we’re all grasping for control of something we can never hold onto.
I’ve spent most of my time here as Cassidy wishing for the years to fly by, so I can return to The Life-After. I’ve dreamed of the moment I’ll be part of the lights and colors forever, never having to come back here. Now I’m almost there and I don’t feel the way I always thought I would. There are less than forty-eight hours to go, and now I find myself wishing for more time.
I should be happy that all of this is almost over. I know what I’m going back to and that the job I came here for is done. Riley’s heart and energy are open and flowing, and his life will unfold the way it’s supposed to. The Life-After won’t need to cut this life short for him, and he won’t need to come back here as a second-timer. Or that’s what Noah keeps saying, anyway.
What I know, though, is that after I leave, nothing between Riley and me will ever be the same. We’ll meet again in the Life-After, but by then he’ll have gone on to love someone else in a way that’s deeper than what he feels for me right now. I think about waking up next to him this morning, and about his sleepy smile and the soapy scent of his skin. How I tingle when my energy connects with his. The light shining in his eyes over breakfast, and the feel of his lips on mine. The pure joy rushing through me that I can see in my energy.
“Noah?” I call out from where I sit on the sofa, expecting him to show up in my living room at any moment. I wait, but there’s only silence.
“I need to talk to you.” More silence, even though I know he must hear me.
I want to stay. I don’t speak the words aloud, but it takes less than a second for Noah to appear in front of me.
“About time,” I mutter.
“It was hard to hear you. Now I see why.” He walks over to the armchair across from me and sits down.
I don’t say anything, waiting instead for him to infuse me with his energy like he did the night that I blacked out. The infusion doesn’t come. I have to look twice to make sure I’m seeing what I think I am. Instead of bringing his energy closer to me, Noah’s pulling it farther away.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I try to connect my energy to his, but I’m not strong enough. I see the sparks get a little duller and move an inch closer around me.
There’s no mistaking the disbelief on Noah’s face, or the disappointment in his eyes. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Great. A lecture from him is the last thing I need right now.
“I should ask you the same thing,” he answers. “You haven’t been connecting.”
“No, I haven’t been. I want to stay.”
Telling him that is sure to make him boost me with some of his energy. When I don’t feel anything, I look up at him. He’s watching me.
“I can’t stop you," he says.
He’s my advisor, though. If anyone could stop me, it’s him. In fact, I’m pretty sure he has to stop me. I’m telling him that I want to break one of the rules.
“Wanting to stop you and being able to stop you are two different things,” he continues, putting his hands into his suit coat pockets. “You have the free will to let your energy level drop to the point that even I can’t reach you. I just hope you don’t forget.”
“Forget what?”
“What you went through before you left here the first time. Or do I need to remind you?”
I don’t answer him. I can’t even focus on forming words. My body clenches and I try to fight the feeling that’s making my muscles seize everywhere, but it’s stronger than I am. Then I realize where it’s coming from.
“What are you doing?” I croak. There’s pain shooting through me in so many places that I don’t know where it starts or ends. Everything blurs around me and the pain keeps getting stronger. I’d crawl out of my own body if I could. Then I see myself as Anna, flashes of lights and sound everywhere around me. My breath comes in gasps until I choke and fall forward to the floor.
Stop. I can’t open my mouth to speak, but Noah hears me. The feeling stops almost as quickly as it started. I keep my eyes closed while I wait for my pulse to slow down, my hands balled into fists. My fingernails dig into the flesh of my palms.
“Please don’t ever do that again,” I say, opening my eyes. I can barely hear my own voice.
“I hope I don’t have to remind you again.” If he feels even a tiny bit bad for what he just did to me, his face doesn’t show it.
“You don’t,” I assure him. “I remember it well.” The searing last days of being Anna before I blacked out on the road, caught in a memory, and went into the rocks. The last time I could breathe before it all went dark and I woke up to see the colors and the lights.
“I don’t think you remember it well enough,” he replies. “If you did, you wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing.”
I’m silent for a minute. “I don’t understand this,” I finally say.
“Which part?”
The thought of leaving in two days aches in a way I can’t quite put into words. Still, I have to try.
“You want me to love him. You want him to love me. You said that’s why I’m here, so he can open his heart and connect with other people again. And he is.”
Noah nods. “You’ve done your job well. You should be proud of yourself.”
I ignore him, because pride is the last thing I feel right now. “So why are you asking me to break his heart?” And why are you asking me to break my heart all over again? I don’t speak my last thought, but I know he hears me.
He presses the tips of his fingers together, looking at something in the space between them. The seconds tick past while the clock in the room keeps count. I wonder if he’ll answer me.
It takes fifty-seven ticks of the second hand on the clock, but he does. “There’s a difference between loving selfishly and loving truly, but you might not see it. I want to show you something.”
I steel myself for something like what he just put me through, but feel nothing. Instead, everything gets blurry again. I squint, wondering what’s wrong with my eyes until Noah and the room we’re in fades away, and a clear picture forms in front of me.
Riley stands a few feet away, looking older than he does now — maybe ten years older. There’s a gold band on the ring finger of his left hand, and his right hand holds the hand of someone else. When I look closer, I see it’s me. I’m wearing a gold band on my left hand, too. A little girl bounces around on the living room floor in front of us. She has Riley’s eyes and my dark hair, and I guess that she’s our daughter. We look like a happy family.
The scene shifts out of focus and now I see something different. Riley looks a couple of years older now than he did in the last vision, but it’s hard to tell because his face is scrunched up, mangled in what looks like pain or maybe grief. Our daughter wanders around the living room, not seeming to notice anything around her. Tears stream down her face.
