I’m pacing the length of the hall just outside of our room, impatiently waiting for Juliette to finish her shower. My mind is ravaged. Hysteria has been clawing at my insides for hours. I have no idea what she’ll say to me. How she’ll react to what I need to tell her. And I’m so horrified by what I’m about to do that I don’t even hear someone calling my name until they’ve touched me.

I spin around too fast, my reflexes faster than even my mind. I’ve got his hand pinched up at the wrist and wound behind his back and I’ve slammed him chest-first into the wall before I realize it’s Kent. Kent, who’s not fighting back, just laughing and telling me to let go of him.

I do.

I drop his arm. Stunned. Shake my head to clear it. I don’t remember to apologize.

“Are you okay?” someone else says to me.

It’s James. He’s still the size of a child, and for some reason this surprises me. I take a careful breath. My hands are shaking. I’ve never felt further from okay, and I’m too confused by my anxiety to remember to lie.

“No,” I say to him. I step backward, hitting the wall behind me and slumping to the floor. “No,” I say again, and this time I don’t know who I’m speaking to.

“Oh. Do you want to talk about it?” James is still blathering. I don’t understand why Kent won’t make him stop.

I shake my head.

But this only seems to encourage him. He sits down beside me. “Why not?

I think you should talk about it,” he says.

“C’mon, buddy,” Kent finally says to him. “Maybe we should give Warner some privacy.”

James will not be convinced. He peers into my face. “Were you crying?” “Why do you ask so many questions?” I snap, dropping my head in one

hand.

“What happened to your hair?”

I look up at Kent, astounded. “Will you please retrieve him?”

“You shouldn’t answer questions with other questions,” James says to me, and puts a hand on my shoulder. I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Why are you touching me?”

“You look like you could use a hug,” he says. “Do you want a hug? Hugs always make me feel better when I’m sad.”

“No,” I say, fast and sharp. “I do not want a hug. And I’m not sad.”

Kent appears to be laughing. He stands a few feet away from us with his arms crossed, doing nothing to help the situation. I glare at him.

“Well you seem sad,” James says.

“Right now,” I say stiffly, “all I’m feeling is irritation.”

“Bet you feel better though, huh?” James smiles. Pats my arm. “See—I told you it helps to talk about it.”

I blink, surprised. Stare at him.

He’s not exactly correct in his theory, but oddly enough, I do feel better.

Getting frustrated just now, with him—it helped clear my panic and focus my thoughts. My hands have steadied. I feel a little sharper.

“Well,” I say. “Thank you for being annoying.”

“Hey.” He frowns. He gets to his feet, dusts off his pants. “I’m not annoying.”

“You most certainly are annoying,” I tell him. “Especially for a child your size. Why haven’t you have learned to be quieter by now? When I was your age I only spoke when I was spoken to.”

James crosses his arms. “Wait a second—what do you mean, for a child my size? What’s wrong with my size?”

I squint at him. “How old are you? Nine?” “I’m about to turn eleven!”

“You’re very small for eleven.”

And then he punches me. Hard. In the thigh.

“Owwwwwww,” he cries, overzealous in his exaggeration of the simple sound. He shakes out his fingers. Scowls at me. “Why does your leg feel like stone?”

“Next time,” I say, “you should try picking on someone your own size.” He narrows his eyes at me.

“Don’t worry,” I say to him. “I’m sure you’ll get taller soon. I didn’t hit my growth spurt until I was about twelve or thirteen, and if you’re anything like me—”

Kent clears his throat, hard, and I catch myself.

“That is—if you’re anything like, ah, your brother, I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

James looks back at Kent and smiles, the awkward punch apparently forgotten. “I really hope I’m like my brother,” James says, beaming now. “Adam is the best, isn’t he? I hope I’m just like him.”

I feel the smile break off my face. This little boy. He’s also mine, my brother, and he may never know it.

“Isn’t he?” James says, still smiling. I startle. “Excuse me?”

“Adam,” he says. “Isn’t Adam the best? He’s the best big brother in the world.”

“Oh—yes,” I say to him, clearing the catch in my throat. “Yes, of course. Adam is, ah, the best. Or some approximation thereof. In any case, you’re very lucky to have him.”

Kent shoots me a look, but says nothing.

“I know,” James says, undeterred. “I got really lucky.”

I nod. Feel something twist in my gut. I get to my feet. “Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Yep. Got it.” Kent nods. Waves good-bye. “We’ll see you around, yeah?” “Certainly.”

“Bye!” James says as Kent tugs him down the hall. “Glad you’re feeling better!”

Somehow I feel worse.

I walk back into the bedroom not quite as panicked as before, but more somber, somehow. And I’m so distracted I almost don’t notice Juliette stepping out of the bathroom as I enter.

She’s wearing nothing but a towel.

Her cheeks are pink from the shower. Her eyes are big and bright as she smiles as me. She’s so beautiful. So unbelievably beautiful.

“I just have to grab some fresh clothes,” she says, still smiling. “Do you mind?”

I shake my head. I can only stare at her.

Somehow, my reaction is insufficient. She hesitates. Frowns as she looks at me. And then, finally, moves toward me.

I feel my lungs malfunction. “Hey,” she says.

But all I can think about is what I have to say to her and how she might react. There’s a small, desperate hope in my heart that’s still trying to be optimistic about the outcome.

Maybe she’ll understand.

“Aaron?” She steps closer, closing the gap between us. “You said you wanted to talk to me, right?”

“Yes,” I say, whispering the word. “Yes.” I feel dazed.

“Can it wait?” she says. “Just long enough for me to change?” I don’t know what comes over me.

Desperation. Desire. Fear. Love.

It hits me with a painful force, the reminder. Of just how much I love her.

God, I love all of her. Her impossibilities, her exasperations. I love how gentle she is with me when we’re alone. How soft and kind she can be in our quiet moments. How she never hesitates to defend me.

I love her.

And she’s standing in front of me now, a question in her eyes, and I can’t

think of anything but how much I want her in my life, forever.

Still, I say nothing. I do nothing. And she won’t walk away.

I realize, with a start, that she’s still waiting for an answer. “Yes, of course,” I say quickly. “Of course it can wait.”

But she’s trying to read my face. “What’s wrong?” she says.

I shake my head as I take her hand. Gently, so gently. She steps closer, and my hands close lightly over her bare shoulders. It’s a small, simple movement, but I feel it when her emotions change. She trembles suddenly as I touch her, my hands traveling down her arms, and her reaction trips my senses. It kills me, every time, it leaves me breathless every time she reacts to me, to my touch. To know that she feels something for me. That she wants me.

Maybe she’ll understand, I think. We’ve been through so much together.

We’ve overcome so much. Maybe this, too, will be surmountable.

Maybe she’ll understand.

“Aaron?”

Blood rushes through my veins, hot and fast. Her skin is soft and smells of lavender and I pull back, just an inch. Just to look at her. I graze her bottom lip with my thumb before my hand slips behind her neck.

“Hi,” I say.

And she meets me here, in this moment, in an instant.

She kisses me without restraint, without hesitation, and wraps her arms around my neck and I’m overwhelmed, lost in a rush of emotion—

And the towel falls off her body. Onto to the floor.

I step back, surprised, taking in the sight of her. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest. I can hardly remember what I was trying to do.

Then she steps forward, stands on tiptoe and reels me in, all warmth and heat and sweetness and I pull her against me, drugged by the feel of her, lost in the smooth expanse of her bare skin. I’m still fully clothed. She’s naked in my arms. And somehow that difference between us only makes this moment more surreal. She’s pushing me back gently, even as she continues to kiss me, even as she searches my body through this fabric and I fall backward onto the bed, gasping.

She climbs on top of me.

And I think I’ve lost my goddamned mind.