I’d read the details when the police finally released her name all those months ago. She was jogging, it was late, and she was alone. Her car was dead, so they guessed she was trying to run to a gas station or something.
She’d collapsed with her phone in her hand, and by the time help got to her, she was gone. It was later determined she’d been abusing drugs for quite some time.
I didn’t follow the story and wasn’t very invested at the time. She was just a girl I didn’t know. But I’d heard enough to know the details, and I want to cringe, thinking back to the times I thought about it, not realizing who she was.
Misha’s sister.
“It was the night we met at the scavenger hunt,” I say, remembering the date in the news article.
He nods absently, still staring off. “You and I were inside talking, and she was…”
Dying. I look away.
“I couldn’t stomach anything after that,” he explains. “I stopped writing, because I couldn’t talk about it, but I couldn’t talk about anything else, either. I couldn’t carry on like before, and I couldn’t face the reality of her being gone. I felt sick.” He finally looks over at me. “I needed you, but I just didn’t know how to talk to you anymore. Or anyone. I’d changed.”
“You can talk now.”
He smiles, easing me back to his lap. “Yeah. I’m not sure I could ever give you up again.”
I touch my forehead to his, not knowing what I would do without him. I hate that he stopped writing. I hate that he pretended to be Masen. But I’m so glad we’re here.
I just really hate that it was his sister’s death that brought him here.
“I understand why you stopped writing and why you came here to get away, but…” I look him in the eyes. “Why did you enroll at school? If it wasn’t for me, what was it for?”
He shakes his head, letting out a breath. “Nothing.”
“Misha.”
“Really, it was nothing,” he tells me, cutting me off. “I thought I had another reason to be here, someone who I used to know, but no. It was dumb, and I feel stupid. I shouldn’t have come.” And then he smiles, wrapping his arms around me. “But I’m not sorry I did.”
I cock my head, aggravated. He’s being cagey again.
“I love you,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”
And he looks so calm and happy, I don’t want to ruin it. I take in a deep breath and relax into him. “Can I have the scarf back?”
“Yeah.”
“I love you,” I say, my fingers tingling as my heartbeat picks up.
His fingers grip my waist. “It about fucking time.”
I breathe out a laugh, kissing him. He’s always gotta bust my chops.
“And I think it’s about time I met your mom,” he states.
“Ugh, do we have to?” I trail kisses over his cheek and down his neck, more interested in something else right now.
“You think she won’t like me?”
I sigh, looking back up at him. My mom is lovely, but she’s strict. Seeing me in love and giddy and everything, her first concern will be making sure I don’t blow off college to get married.
“Well, you are the grandson of a senator, I guess,” I tell him. “Can we lead with that?”
He snorts, shaking his head at me. I guess that’s a no.
“Okay, fine,” I snip. “But afterwards, I have a favor to ask.”
“Ask me now.”
“Eh,” I cage. “I’ll tell you in the truck. It’s kind of illegal.”
I pick up the small duffel and hear the clank of a few cans inside. Well, I guess it’s better than it was. I don’t want to alert my family when I take it downstairs, so I’ve wrapped the cans in some clothes, hoping to drown out the sound.
Tonight is my final little foray, and Misha is helping. Only this time, I have no guilt about it. We’re rebels with a reason.
Okay, a little reason, at least.
Checking myself in the mirror one last time, I grab the bag and hear the doorbell ring, smiling. He’s here.
Leaving my room, I lift the hem of my dress as I step down the stairs. My mom and sister are camped out in the living room, huddled around a bowl of popcorn and scary movies tonight, but really, they’re just waiting to see Misha again.
When I brought him home last week, my mom immediately liked him. A lot. Especially with our history. She knows how much Misha means to me, and to finally meet him was incredible.