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Flopping back on the pillow, I fold my hands behind my head. As I stare blankly at the ceiling, I try to calm my frantic brain, but it’s just not working. Grace is everywhere. She’s in my head and heart.

She’s in my memories and my past. It’s just a matter of unlocking them.

But right now, the very cold reality is that all I have left of her is in a box at the side of my bed. Needing some distance from her things, in the empty hope that it will distance me from her, I move the box to the top of the stairs. When I open the front closet, I see her hoodie in there. Cursing it, I tear it from the hanger.

I can’t escape her.

I don’t want to.

But I should.

She’s better for it.

Rage fills my gut.

I can’t figure any of this shit out. The only thing I can grab a firm hold of is how broken I am.

Determined to box up everything she left behind, I turn my apartment upside down. Collecting everything that once belonged to her—books, movies, clothes, stupid little love notes taped to the inside of my study materials—I move through my apartment in a blind rampage. Things crash to the floor all around me and I simply don’t care. My sole focus is to erase everything about Grace from my life.

When I’m through in the living room, I give the bedroom another pass. Emptying every single drawer, I make sure nothing of hers remains. Clothes flutter to floor, like thoughts of Grace, whispering in the wind.

But when I open the drawer on my nightstand, my world stops spinning.

A black, velvet box sits in the shallow wooden drawer. Too afraid to open it, but too curious not to, I hold it in my hands, turning it over time and time again.

Only the sound of someone walking up my stairs pulls me from my frenzy.

Moving with as much speed as I can, I hobble into the living room only to see Grace. Her face is tear-stained, her eyes puffy and swollen. Holding a crumpled letter in her hand, she stalks toward me.

“The way I deserved to be loved?” Anger permeates her words, her voice wobbling, bordering on out of control. Shaking the letter in my face, I recognize the words as my own. “You’re sorry?” Venom mingles through her words as she mocks mine. “In another life? What about this one?”

Frozen on the spot, I can’t find anything to say. She mistakes my silence for not caring. Stepping right into my face, she pounds her clenched fists against my chest. “I love you.” The paper crinkles in her hands. “I loved you then and I love you now. Don’t you see that?” Sobs wrack her body and the pounding subsides. She can barely catch her breath, but she talks through her breathless crying. “It’s always been you. From that moment you saved me all those years ago, you’re the only person I held in my heart.” With her energy spent, she relents on hitting me, letting her arms fall to the side. “You left your key,” she murmurs, resting her head against my chest.

Trying not to touch her is like trying not to breath. Reaching up, I stroke my hands through her hair, it’s deep red color calling to me to smooth it out of her face. “Shh,” I calm her. But all we both hear is the sound of a black velvet box dropping to the floor.

It pops open, displaying what I knew in my gut it would reveal. “What is that?” Shock washes over her, twisting her face into a painful sort of agony. “No,” she begs, covering her eyes. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know what could’ve been.” Stepping back from me, she back peddles only to meet the wall behind her. Repeating, “no” over and over again, the sobs return. She slides down the wall, cupping her hand over her mouth. Curled into a ball, she cries into her hands, broken and shattered and it’s all my fault.

With the closed box in my hand, I move to sit next to her. Flinching away from my touch, she cries even more. “No,” she repeats again. “I can’t. It’s too much to take in.”

And it is.

Call it a sense of morbid curiosity, but I need to see what’s inside. Cracking open the box once again, a shimmer of light shines in my eye. I’d love to say that in that moment, when the sparkle of diamond nearly blinds me, that all of my memories return, every flash and flare of color coming back to life as if the answer simply lay within this small black, velvet box.

That’s not at all what happens.

I close the box, letting my head hang in my hands,

Grace and I sit beside each other, slumped against the wall.

Pieces of something significant scatter around me, but like a child trying to capture lightning bugs on a summer night, the light eludes me. My mind reaches for the thoughts, like hands outstretched ready to catch the green-tailed bug, but it collapses before anything real comes to fruition.

Her voice breaks through the tension-filled silence. “I would have said yes.”

And with those words, a lightning bug lands in my hands.

“She’ll say yes,” Grace’s mom gasped. Looking down at the ring, she covers her mouth with her hand, and I smiled knowing that Grace does the exact same thing when she’s surprised. “It’s beautiful.”

Clapping a hand to my shoulder, her father smiled at me as well. “Nothing would make me and Meredith happier than to see the two of you getting married. Of course you have our blessing.”

Her younger sister even began to cry, going on and on about how lucky Grace was. They all surrounded me, hugging me with all their might. It was the perfect welcome into the family.

Replaying the scene on an endless loop in my brain, I make sure what I’m remembering is something that actually happened, that it’s not something I simply willed into existence. Unable to keep it to myself any longer, I turn to her. Her face is blotchy and her breath is still uneven, shuddery with the lingering sobs.

“I remember asking your parents.” My admission makes her face pale. She twists to look at me, saying nothing but seeming as if every word imaginable is flying through her brain. “They gave me their blessing.”

She nods, tears streaming down her face. She continues to cry, but when I reach for her she pushes me away. “I can’t. Wait . . . give me a . . . I don’t know what to . . . it’s all too much.” My returning memories take her breath away, but she loses the ability to speak.

A crazy idea blooms to life in my fucked-up head. “What if,” I begin to question, gathering some courage in the hopes that maybe I haven’t ruined us beyond repair. She shakes her head, as if that will stop me from saying what I need to say. “If I can only remember parts of our past, is that enough? If I can only love you for who we are now, is that enough?”

Tears flow down her cheeks. She shakes her head and pulls herself from the ground. “I need space. I need to breathe and figure this out.”

Without another word, she walks out of my apartment, carrying my heart in her hands.

Is it enough?

Numbly, I walk down his stairs, knowing full well that he can’t chase after me. Thankful for that space, I step into my car, gripping the steering wheel as if my life depends on it.

Resting my head against the cool leather, I take a few deep breaths and manage to calm myself down.

He was going to ask me to marry him.

And then my world broke in half.

Is it enough?

“Is it enough?” I scoff his ridiculous question to no one but myself.

Annoyance and anger war inside me, forcing me from the car.

With renewed determination, I climb his stairs, willing myself to remain as calm as possible. When I look into the living room, I see him sitting on the couch, facing away from me. His shoulders are slumped, the box sitting on the table.

“No, it won’t be enough.” My words fall to his back and he stands up. Dejection fills his face as he turns to me. As I walk over to him, I continue, “It’ll never ever be enough.”

Standing in front of him now, I force myself not to reach for him. Not to kiss him as if my next breath has to come from his lungs. “Every day that I get to spend with you, loving you, it will never be enough. Because I could love you . . .” My ability not to touch him wavers and I rest my hand over his heart. “I could love who you are today, who you were yesterday, and who you’ll be tomorrow with everything that I am and it still wouldn’t be enough.” His heart beats wildly under my hand. Smiling up at him, my anger and frustration dissipates, replaced by warmth and happiness. “I could love you every single day for the rest of my life and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

“But what if I–”

“Don’t remember what we used to be, how you used to love me?” I finish his sentence for him, only allowing him the space to nod. “You don’t get it. I don’t care about what you can remember.”

“You don’t?” His brows knot in confusion.

“I never did. All I ever wanted was for you to let me in now. I don’t care about what your head remembers, only your heart.” Reaching to cup my face, he strokes his thumb over my cheek. Leaning into his touch, I feel like I can breathe again. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for what feels like forever.” Gently, he reaches his other hand up to the other side of my face.

Looking deep into my eyes, it’s as if he’s seeing me for the very first time all over again. “And I’ve been waiting to do this from the moment I laid eyes on you.” Moving an inch closer to me, his warm breath bathes over my skin. The seconds before his lips touch mine are painfully sweet. The anticipation, the want, the need, the desire.

All of it swirls around in my chest, swelling in a sense of love like I’ve never felt. Knowing what his lips feel like on mine, and needing them again as if it’s the first time, it’s the perfect balance of what used to and what will be.

The soft fullness of his lips on mine is a feeling I’ll never forget, but it’s new at the same time. The sparks I’d always felt are still there, but I wait to see if they’re there for him as well. He pulls back and my heart sinks.
He doesn’t feel it.
My mind races.

“It’s okay. I under–”

My words die on his lips.

His hand in my hair, his lips on mine, his body warm and alive under my fingers—it’s all overwhelming. Pulling back once more, his eyes are wide and vibrant. Resting his forehead against mine, he takes a deep breath. “It’ll never be enough for me either. Not after that.”

“Oh, thank God,” I gasp, before attacking his mouth again. My brain and my body won’t cooperate and I’m clumsy at first. Angling my head the wrong way, not knowing where to put my hands. Wanting to put them everywhere all at once.

And he’s just the same.

It’s the most imperfectly perfect second first kiss ever.

With steps steadier than his, I walk backward to the bedroom. Stopping halfway down the hall, I look up at him, catching my breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume. I got ahead–”

“Stop.” His hand tightens on my waist. “Just shut up and keep kissing me. I want you, too.”

A smile pulls at my lips at his demanding nature. It’s comforting to know that hasn’t changed. Nudging the door open with my back, I walk us into his room, spinning us around so that he’s only steps away from the bed. With one gentle push, I step away from him, affording me a few inches of space between us.

Something bold takes over. Courage flows through my veins and uncertainty vanishes. Regardless of what tomorrow brings for us, I want him. Right here and now, I need to be with him. Catching a glimpse of the scars on his arm, I’m quickly reminded that tomorrow is not a guarantee.

And in our case, neither is yesterday.

Sometimes all you have are the minutes ticking on right in front of you.

With those emotions filling my heart, I lift my shirt over my head. Tossing it to the floor in a gentle cascade of soft pink fabric, I’m rewarded with his hungry, wide-eyed stare. Stepping out of my jeans, I let them pool at my feet. Toeing off my shoes, I kick my pile of clothes to the side. In a quick move that leaves goose bumps racing over my heated skin, I get rid of my bra and panties.

Standing naked before him, I don’t know what to expect. His silence is my reward. Rubbing his thumbs over his fingers, he’s on the edge of a decision, literally restraining himself from reaching out for me.

Taking a deep breath, I step within an inch of him. Lacing my fingers with his, I look into his eyes. “You can touch me. Whatever happens afterward doesn’t matter. All that matters is right now.” With a slowness that makes it feel as if time is standing still, he reaches our joined hands up to my breast. When his fingers graze over my skin, my breath gets caught in my throat.

“You’re so fucking soft,” he growls, gently squeezing my flesh. “So warm.”

My head falls backward at his touch, my ability to even hold myself upright nearly gone completely. “I’ve been waiting to feel you again for so long, I forgot how good it would be,” I admit, pushing my breast into his needy hand. My legs wobble just as he wraps his arm around my waist.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, letting soft kisses fall to my neck. “God, I want you,” he growls against my skin, setting loose a fresh river of chills.

“Take me,” I beg. “Please. Take me, now.” Effortlessly, he spins me around and lowers me to the bed. His weight presses me into the mattress and I could happily lie there for the rest of my life. Looking up at me from under his long lashes, he kisses a hot path down the center of my chest. Though I try to stifle it, a soft whimper escapes my mouth as his descends on my tightened nipple. As if I have no control over them, my hands dive into his hair. It’s longer now than it used to be, curling at the nape of his neck. “Oh, God,” I pant, over and over, heavy with need.