I still can't turn to him. "On prom night."
"Yes." It wasn't a question for him to answer, but he keeps going. "That was the only time. I know you've worried about it before, but there wasn't—it was just this once."
"So far?"
Jamie reaches for my jaw, rough with me in a way that holds my attention when he forces me to meet his somber blue eyes. The moonlight leaves shadows just beneath them, but it's possible he's been sleeping as badly as I have been, and maybe the shadows were already there. When he seems certain I won't look away, his fingers roam selfishly and soothingly, over my lips and across my cheek and into the hair I've left down because I know he likes it that way.
"My kid went to prom, and it was so—it was such a milestone. I kept thinking about how fast she's growing up, and I wished for a second that time would just slow down." He frowns and his grip on my hair tightens until he reminds himself to relax. "But I also don't want it to slow down at all, because I want to be with you. And it's stupid because I don't have control of it either way. Time will pass no matter what I want."
"It will, yeah."
He lets his hand fall away as he takes a deep breath. "After Harper was gone, I showered, and I had a couple of drinks, and I was justrestless. I knew you were at the dance too, and Kai was slammed at work, and I felt like I was crawling out of my skin. Then Melanie called with this sad, lonely drawl that made too much sense. When she invited me over, I went."
Whatever conflict Jamie felt about time passing was unlikely to have been true for Melanie. Her daughter's a senior, and unless there's someone special she's been waiting for, she had nothing to hold her back. She'd had her sights on Jamie for years, and prom night gave her little to lose.
Still, he's here with me now.
"You needed each other," I tell him.
Jamie rubs at the shadows under his eyes. "What are we doing?"
"Waiting."
"Are we? Have you been out there waiting for me as well as I'm waiting for you?"
"I'm not sure waiting for each other ever included a vow of celibacy," I say. "In a perfect world, maybe. But we're imperfect adults who keep talking about what we want, and imagining what we want, but not actually getting what we want. Four years was always going to be a very long time."
His next exhale is full of resignation. "Fuck. You slept with someone, too."
"We're imperfect adults," I say again. "Not characters in a rom-com."
"Anybody I know?"
"No."
"What's his name?"
"Come on, Jamie. You don't need to—"
"Please," he interrupts.
"Logan."
"Are the two of you still a thing?"
"No."
"He'd be stupid not to want more."
"Melanie Bishop isn't stupid," I murmur.
"Melanie Bishop wanted orgasms and clout."
"And who better to provide both?"
That's unfair of me, but Jamie doesn't argue the point, cautious but intentional when he finds my hand under the blanket and holds me there. It's different from the first time we were here, but so much the same, and we're silent for a while before either of us disrupts this painful peace.
It's Jamie, using my hoodie as his armor. "It's been three messyyears. What are we doing?"