He spoke with a rushed urgency, like he was trying to explain himself.
“When my shadow first went missing, I thought it was punishment for letting myself get—get distracted by you, because I was trying to get close to you. I wanted to,” he added insistently. Wendy’s eyes momentarily snagged on his hand as it reached toward hers, then hesitated. “Then when you found me struggling with my shadow, you acted like it was completely normal, and you were the one who was able to reattach it, to sew it back on.”
“But how?” Wendy interjected.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you had your own magic? There was something different about you. You felt different to me. Important.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Special.”
Wendy’s hands gripped the teddy bear in her lap tightly. Her heart fluttered in her chest.
“Then you started telling my stories less,” Peter continued. He spoke faster, his words tumbling from his lips. “I could see that you were growing up, that you were going to move into your own room, become a teenager, and forget about me. When John and Michael were—” Peter let out a frustrated noise and started again. “When I found the three of you in the woods, you begged me to bring you along to Neverland, and I wanted to. I didn’t want you to grow up and forget about me, too. It—” He gave her an uncertain look. “It hurt to think about.”
Wendy could hardly understand him. She felt dizzy. “What are you saying?” She felt out of breath.
“You were the oldest kid ever to come to Neverland, Wendy,” Peter told her. His fingers finally pressed to the inside of her wrist, heavy and warm. “It’s meant for children. I think that’s why I started losing my magic and Neverland began falling apart. It’s my fault all of this happened…” His face was twisted.
“But you didn’t know that would happen,” Wendy said. Her body was acutely aware of him—where his hand was on hers, the way his body was angled toward her, how she was close enough to feel his body heat. The acorn pressed against the center of her chest. It felt hot.
“I went against the rules,” Peter told her. “My job is to look after lost kids. I’m not supposed to interact with the others. I could watch, I could listen in when you told stories, but I wasn’t supposed to approach.” He paused and wetted his lips. “And then everything went wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to hate me.” He spoke slowly, deliberately.
Wendy’s brows furrowed. She didn’t understand what he meant, but she couldn’t think through the heady fog. Wendy didn’t remember leaning in, or Peter moving closer. Their shoulders pressed against each other. Peter’s startling blue eyes were wide. His cheeks flushed. His fingers brushed against hers. Wendy’s heart fluttered in her chest.
At first, she thought she was trembling, but it was Peter.
“You’re shaking,” Wendy said.
Peter’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, giving a barely perceptible nod of his head.
“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything?” Wendy heard herself say. She was lightheaded and breathless.
“I’m terrified,” he said quietly. His starry eyes held hers and she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.
“Of what?” Wendy asked.
Peter’s words brushed against her lips. “Losing you.”
Wendy leaned in closer and placed a hand in the center of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat thudding against her fingertips. His palm pressed against her cheek. Her head swam as she drowned in the smell of humid jungles and salty oceans.
The acorn around her neck burned bright in the small space left between them. It gleamed in his eyes.
“Can I stay with you?” Peter whispered, ghosting over her lips.
Wendy balled the front of his shirt in her hands, pulling him to her.
There was a moment of lips pressed to lips, the taste of honeysuckle, and an unbearable lightness that made her feel like she would float away if she didn’t hold on to him.
But then the window burst open, an exploding backdraft of darkness that tore them apart and threw Wendy to the ground.
CHAPTER 20
Truth
The tiny bulbs lining the room popped and burst, snuffing out the lights. The window clattered and swung violently on its hinges. Wendy tried to push herself up, but pain splintered through her head. A groan sounded at the back of her throat and the room beneath her swayed.
Peter let out a cry that snapped her out of her daze. He lay splayed on the floor a few feet away from her. His eyes were squeezed shut in a grimace. His entire body writhed in pain, fingers dragging against the floor. His back arched unnaturally. The muscles in his neck bulged and strained under his skin. His usually warm hair was dark with sweat and plastered to his forehead. His breaths sawed in and out, mixed with guttural cries.