Page 156 of The Design of Goodbye
When I got home, Liam emerged from the shadows of my dining room before I had a chance to take off my coat. He was wearing sweatpants, a T-shirt, and had a red mark on hisleft cheek.
He was more handsome than ever. My heart ached.
“Hey,” he said.
“Were you waiting in the dining room?” I pointed to the darkness behind him.
“No,” he said. “I was watching a movie on your laptop and fell asleep.” He rubbed his cheek. “I woke up to the garage, so I came—”
“I was worried you wouldn’t be here.” I didn’t hang up my coat; instead, I let it fall to the floor as I stepped closer to him.
“Where else would I be?” he asked, like the answer was obvious.
“At the hotel with your brother.”
“You know I chose to stay here.”
“I know,” I said, remembering. “But I was worried you changed your mind because...”I pulled at my braid, and the elastic band snapped. Wisps of hair framed my face. “Because of what happened earlier.”
“You think I’d leave without saying goodbye?” Suddenly, he was in front of me, fire in his eyes. “And without fighting for you?”
“You’re going to fight for me?” I whispered, scared I’d misheard him.
“I’ll fight for you until you tell me to stop.”
At that, my heart skipped one
two
three
beats.
“Are you going to tell me to stop?” he asked.
As soon as a barely audible “Never” passed my lips, he crashed into me. It was how we’d met and how we’d say goodbye.
I clung to him. Maybe if I didn’t let go, he’d have no choice but to stay. “I’m going to miss you,” I whispered.
He kissed the top of my forehead. It felt like a whisper, that kiss. Soft but still powerful. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
“Are you coming back?” I asked.
“I can’t stay away.”
“Promise?”
No hesitation: “I promise.” He pulled away and gently tilted my chin so I was looking at him. “I’m not your mother, Madison,” he said softly. “I’m coming back to you. Do you believe me?”
“I believe you,” I answered easily. “And I’m going to wait for you.”
At that, he kissed me.
I expected his kiss to taste like a goodbye: full of desperation and longing and pain. But it didn’t. Instead, it tasted like the start of something new. Of hope.
And I think, maybe, love.
* * *
