Chapter 31 "I know. Yes. Yes, I'm leaving now." June turns back to me, her eyes pleading from the sliding door. "Unless Avery thinks I should stay tonight." I catch myself before I laugh, not wanting to hurt my bestie's delicate pregnancy feelings, but shake my head. "That's not necessary, Juni. Go home to your husband and daughter." Spinning back to the railing of my balcony, I close my eyes and breathe in the breezy, salty air coming off the water. I've lived in Miami my whole life, and in this specific condo for several years, and I've never appreciated the view as much as I do right now. It's peace and memories and just enough Henry to keep myself from going stir-crazy in my newly revolutionized world now that I'm officially home from the hospital after being discharged this afternoon. June's been hovering over me all day, long after Beau left to get Addy from the sitter and my parents went home to their house. And despite lots and lots of trying, I've not been able to get my contacts to load into the new phone that arrived with a simple note from a courier shortly after I got home. I've synced to my computer and reloaded and restarted and practically bribed the fucking tech gods on Best Buy's website with sexual favors, but nothing, and I mean nothing, has granted me access to my numbers. June gave me hers and Beau's and my parents, but I've been too embarrassed to ask for Henry's so far, much to my own detriment. Opening my eyes and taking a deep breath, I take my phone out of my shorts pocket and start messing with it again, toggling all the settings switches like a maniac. June touches my shoulder, startling me, and I fumble the phone so hard, I just narrowly miss dropping it off the balcony in a dangerous tumble. "Shoot, sorry," she apologizes. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just... I guess I'm going to go for now. Unless-" "Don't you dare say it, June. Go home. For the love of God, go home." "Fine!" She huffs. "Whatever. Just know that I could have fixed you a whole-ass meal if you'd let me stay. Five courses!" God, she's the best. I smile. "I love you, truly, but once you deliver your newborn several months from now and look back at this time, you'll understand how crazy you're being." She leans forward and kisses my cheek and then pulls me into a hug. "Call me if you need me." I nod. "I will." If I can ever get this phone to work. I don't dare mention the technological troubles to her, though. She'll never leave. "What are you going to do?" I shrug. "Sleep, I guess." She considers me closely for a long moment, and I pause intently, waiting for the scrutiny to pass. I know I'm different. I know. But the last thing I want to get into with June right now is all the reasons why. Ten minutes of begging later, I finally get my best friend out the door, waving goodbye as the doors to the elevator close in front of her. I shut the front door of the condo and lock it, and then I retreat to my room, climbing into the comfort of newly washed sheets, courtesy of June's neuroses. It's plush and warm and all the things I longed for during the chilly, uncushioned nights on the island. And yet, it's all wrong. I toss and turn, back and forth from one side to the other, karate-chopping my pillow over and over in the dark room until giving up with a groan. I'm tired, almost desperately so, but sleep eludes me anyway. Sitting up and grabbing it from my nightstand, I toggle all the switches in the settings of my phone again, connecting to the Wi-Fi again when I'm done, and finally, everything loads in a startling flourish. Texts, calls, emails, and notifications roll in by the hundreds, and I drop the crazed thing on my bed and wait as it struggles to catch up. It feels a little like a ticking time bomb when I pick it back up, but I scroll furiously to Henry's number and open the message thread, only to find one from him already waiting. Oh my God. When did he send this? I sit up straighter in my bed. Henry: Hey. Just checking in. How are you feeling? I stare at his message, the words pressing heavy against my chest. My fingers hover over the screen, desperate to answer, but for as much as I want to say all the things, I can't settle on a single one. I set the phone back on my nightstand and roll onto my side. The weight of his text lingers, mixing with the endless swirl of thoughts that keep me from sleeping. The bed feels too big. Too empty. All fucking wrong. Henry had this way of grounding me, of making me feel safe even when everything around us felt impossible. The sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body next to mine, the low hum of the song he'd sing when I couldn't sleep. It became my anchor. My calm in the chaos. I turn back toward my nightstand, grabbing my phone without thinking. My thumb hovers over the screen again, but instead of typing, I get out of bed and throw on my favorite Prada sweats before slipping on a pair of Hermès slides and grabbing my purse. Maybe I can't decide on what to say because fucking typing something out on a stupid phone isn't the answer at all. I close my door and lock it behind myself quickly, jumping on the elevator of my building and riding it to the basement garage with unconcealed urgency. My G-Wagon is in its assigned spot like magic, even though the last time I saw it was at the airport hangar on New Year's Day morning, and I climb in and fire it up without hesitation. My lip gloss is in one cupholder, an old empty Starbucks cup in the other, like artifacts of a woman left behind. I strap on my seat belt and floor it out of the spot, rolling down my window despite the nighttime chill. The wind grounds me on the drive over, blowing in my hair and tangling it wildly. On autopilot, I pull into a parking spot outside his building, shutting off my engine and laying my head on the steering wheel as I try to muster the courage to climb out. This is crazy. I know it is. And so at odds with the twenty-seven years of life I've lived up until the start of this all. But on another wavelength, in a parallel universe, it feels so, so right. I climb out and head inside, and after a short ride up in the elevator, I'm standing in front of his door. I pause, my mind finally catching up with my surroundings and working to prepare me for an outcome I can't foresee. What am I expecting him to say? What am I expecting him to do? My heart pounds as I lift my hand and knock lightly, and for a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing. Then the door swings open. "Avery?" Henry's voice is low and rough from sleep, and the sight of him... God, the sight of him steals the air from my lungs. He's standing there in gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that clings to his chest, his hair mussed, his eyes soft with sleep, and his beard still intact. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but it's the first positive sign that maybe I'm not the only one holding on to the island's alternate reality. Relief floods through me, so overwhelming that I feel like crying. I've missed him. Not just his presence, but everything about him. The way he looks at me, the steadiness of his voice, the way he makes me feel like I'm not alone. Being here, seeing him, it's like finally taking a breath after being underwater for too long. In that moment, none of the questions matter. Has he been thinking about me the way I've been thinking about him? Does he miss me, even a fraction of the way I've missed him? Is he still with the blond woman named Ashley? I need him and his arms more than I need answers to anything. I shove inside, slamming into his chest and pushing him back until his door falls closed behind us. "Avery," he says my name again, his voice a soft balm for the rough uncertainty I've become twisted in since we got back. I open my mouth, but the words catch in my throat. The jumble of feelings I've been carrying threatens to spill out all at once, but I don't know where to start. So, I say the only thing I can. "I can't fall asleep." He pulls back slightly to look me in the eyes, his crinkling carefully at the corners as he brushes my hair behind my ear. Then, without a word, he grabs my hand and guides me through the darkened space on gentle feet. It's such a simple touch, but it sends a shiver down my spine. His bedroom is dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand. He pulls back the covers of his currently empty bed, motioning for me to lie down, and I do. The bed is warm, and it smells like him-clean and familiar. He climbs in beside me, his movements careful and deliberate, like he's afraid I might shatter. But I don't hold back. I curl up against him, tucking my head into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, and for the first time in two days, I feel like I can breathe again. He slips his hand into my hair, threading his fingers through it in slow, soothing strokes. "I've got you," he murmurs, his voice rumbling against my cheek. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away. He moves his hand to my back, tracing soft patterns there, and I feel the tension in my body start to melt away. Then, softly, he starts to sing. The same song he used to hum on the island. It's not perfect-his voice cracks a little on the higher notes-but it doesn't matter. It's him. It's us. And for the first time since we left the island, I feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. The room is still dark, bathed in the faint glow of the moonlight spilling through the blinds of Henry's bedroom. I wake slowly, warmth seeping into every part of me. Henry's arms are wrapped around me, his body pressed firmly against mine. His chest rises and falls steadily, the rhythmic sound of his breathing lulling me even as I stir. I'm so warm, so perfectly warm, and the hard muscles of his body are a comfort I didn't realize I'd been craving. Being with him like this feels good. Too good. And the growing ache between my thighs makes one thing clear-I want him. If I'm honest with myself, I've probably wanted him for far longer than I ever allowed myself to realize. Memories of him flash behind my closed eyes, like an old movie reel playing scenes of my life with him always lingering somewhere in the background. Him as a sixteen-year-old, all lean muscle and tanned skin, surfing on the beach with Beau while I sat on the sand, pretending not to stare. The day he graduated from college, standing on the stage with that crooked grin that made my stomach flip. I was there for my brother, but my eyes never left Henry. So many memories. So many moments. And the realization hits me like a freight train. It's not just that he's my brother's best friend. It's so much more than that. I've been into him. Really into him. For years. It's probably why you never noticed June crushing on Beau. You were too busy crushing on Henry. The thought almost makes me laugh. How inception-y is that? My best friend was pining for my brother, and I was pining for my brother's best friend while being oblivious to the obvious. I shift slightly, reaching up to run my fingers through Henry's hair. It's soft and thick, curling slightly at the ends. His face is slack with sleep, his features relaxed and unguarded. This man is so handsome, I swear, GQ should call him for a front-page profile. Even like this, in the middle of the night, with his lumberjack beard, he's freaking drool-on-myself stunning. Eventually, his lashes flutter, and his eyes blink open. The startling clear blue warmth of them locks on mine, and we just stare at each other for a long moment. So many men I've dated, and never once did looking into their eyes feel like this. There's no awkwardness. No pressure. The air between us feels charged with something I can't quite put into words. "You okay?" he eventually whispers, his voice low and rough. I nod. "Are you okay?" "Now that you're here, I am." His words burrow deep inside me, settling somewhere beneath my rib cage. My heart skips a beat, my eyes dropping to his mouth. Those perfect, full lips. I can't stop myself from remembering how it felt to kiss him. How it felt to let myself give in to him on the island. You want to kiss him again. "Henry?" I whisper. "Yeah?" "Are you with that girl?" He doesn't hesitate. "No." He shakes his head, like he already knows exactly who I'm talking about. "Are you with that guy?" The question makes my stomach flip, but I shake my head. "No." We could say more. We could explain who Ashley and Justin are, why neither of us seemed to care much about them on the island. But it doesn't feel necessary. There's a trust between us, an understanding that doesn't need words. It might seem crazy to anyone else, but to me, it makes perfect sense. Henry's proven himself in every way that matters. He saved me when the plane went down. He took care of me when I thought I wouldn't survive the island. In every extreme moment, he's shown me that if there's anyone I can trust in this world, it's him. Do you want to be with me? The thought flits through my mind, but I don't say it out loud. Instead, I lean forward and press my lips to his. The kiss is everything I remember and more. His lips are soft but firm, moving against mine with a mix of tenderness and urgency. He tastes like Henry, like warmth and safety and something I can't quite define but never want to let go of. He tightens his arms around me, pulling me closer, and I sink into him, letting everything else fade away. It's just us, and for the first time since we left the island, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.