Page 48 of Find My Way Down to You

He smiles brightly. “You can stay here. Leave me alone. Never return to—”

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Fine, fine.”

My eyes flit anxiously around the area. We’re out in the open. People pass by on the sidewalk. Step outside the automatic doors to answer their phones. No one bats an eye at me or the fact that Cary has one boot already inside the fountain.

As if reading my thoughts, Cary says, “They cannot see us.”

My brows wrinkle. “You I get, but what about me?”

“They cannot see, hear, or even senseeitherof us. Not while we’re…” His voice trails off. But his dark eyes dip to our hands.

Suddenly, I’m very aware of how hard I’m squeezing his fingers.

Then I remember something: “But I saw you at the pizzeria that day. We all did,” I argue, thinking over how Maxknew his name and the customers who confirmed to Detective Rosado that Cary was inside when Hal died. “And I saw you in the alley,” I add in a whisper. “And on campus the next night.”

Even though no one else didlingers in the back of my mind.

A restless sigh leaves his lips. “Shall we go before one of us kills the other?”

I squint at him. “I thought you said you didn’t kill people?”

One side of his mouth curls into a vicious grin. “No, I said I was not Death.”

I smile back, just as ruthless. “Does that mean I can kill you? Do Deathless die? Seems kind of ironic to call yourselves—”

“August.”

My name on his tongue is a hypnotic melody. I nod once before stepping into the water with him.

“Should I…?”

Uncomfortable warmth spreads over my face before I can even fully ask him what I’m thinking. He crooks an eyebrow. Water sloshes at my feet until I’m right in front of him.

Swallowing, I say, “Do I need to be close to you? Like last time?”

Cary’s head tilts. “You remember?”

“Yeah.” I give him a blank stare. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He eyes me quietly. “No. You do not need to be…close. Not for this.”

My stomach unravels with relief.

“Close your eyes,” Cary instructs.

I do, happily. Staring at his unreadable expression—the soft glow of sun on his gold skin—is nauseating.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

I exhale. Water swirls at my ankles, tickles up my legs. I inhale. Drops spread over my forearms. It’s like cool sweat from a run at dusk.

“One more breath.”

I don’t remember sinking. Being submerged. Only the rhythm of his voice matching my pulsing heartbeat as his thumb glides gently over the back of my hand.

I double over, hands on my knees, dry-heaving. My skin is on fire. Ice stings in my blood. And Cary stands over me, uncaring. As if this is nothing for him.

I guess it is. Since he does it all the time.