I loved how there was always something for us to talk about. I loved seeing how she looked at the world, how she tried to see the good in everyone, how easily she forgave people and their fuck-ups. I loved how I’d catch her looking at me like I was the greatest fuckin’ thing since sliced organic bread. She’d blush and smile her secret smile.

All the things I loved about her, the things about her that made her who she was—that was what I’d never be able to live without.

I’d had the greatest sex of my life with her, and it’d only gotten better the more we had done it. But the sex would always be second. It wasn’t why I loved her. It was as great as it was because of what she meant to me, what she represented in my life.

When it came down to it, I could live without fuckin’ my Baby Girl. But I couldn’t fuckin’ live without her.

Kenna

Pain had become the undercurrent to my existence. I’d made the decision not to take any more painkillers, and I was sticking to it. My body had taken a hell of a beating, but after four days of being out of my skull, I was done. Not even Phil could make me change my mind, and he was probably the only thing that actually could. The way he looked at me sometimes…it tore at me in weird ways.

From experience, I knew that masking the pain didn’t help. Even the physical aspect could teach me a lesson. I needed to know how I was healing, how quickly, and what I could do to speed up the process.

When I was on Vicodin, I could hardly move, and that in itself was no good. The first few days had been fine, but I’d hardly eaten, and I had been growing weak. I needed to be able to eat without wanting to vomit.

I had weed in large supply, so I was able to relax without drifting off into a coma. The Vicodin sucked me down so hard that it would make me dream and relive the nightmare. When I wasn’t on it, my dreams would be light or wouldn’t reveal themselves at all.

Gavin and I had lost good friends—Lucy, Charlotte, Rita. Everyone had been such a permanent part of our lives for so long that it was hard to believe they had simply ceased to exist.

Once the drug fog had cleared from my head, I was able to practice meditating with ease. I would sink deep inside myself, passing the physical pangs and twinges of a healing busted body into a state of peaceful consciousness.

“Hey, Baby Girl.”

How I missed that voice. I had no way of listening to Phil unless I was here—where a part of me was a part of him. He would tell me what was in my heart because it was in his. I could see it in his eyes whenever I looked into them.

Days lapsed, and I’d find myself in deep meditation more and more. Phil would leave, and I’d feel so lonely without his energy that I would be compelled to just leave the world behind. He’d come back, freshly showered, and find me in the backyard in lotus pose. Upon ascension, I’d open my eyes, and he’d be sitting next to me, quiet, his hand in mine. He might not be meditating himself, but he would tune his energy low and simply relax with me.

Phil looked thinner. When he took off his clothes before we would go to bed, I could see it. He’d keep his boxers on, and he wouldn’t let me get naked either. It would make my heart twinge, knowing he didn’t have much of an appetite.

The shadows had returned in his eyes, and I knew I was the one who had put them there. He was frustrated, hurting, and wanting to have a simple conversation with me without having to write an essay.

When it came time for the memorial service a week and a half after the explosion, I was feeling a lot stronger, in both body and mind. It was a bright and sunny Tuesday, a little cool. It reminded me of Lucy. She would’ve remarked on what a beautiful day it was.

Alys drove her SUV with Lili and Lewis. Gavin rode with Frank, who would be taking him back home afterward. Tim chauffeured the rest of us in the black band van.

I wasn’t crushed with my grief like I thought I should’ve been. If I could hear how bereaved everyone else was, I might have been able to feel it more. Then again, I’d spent the last week mourning deeply. Gavin and I had wept together for hours. I’d wept in Phil’s arms throughout the nights when I thought I had no more tears left. Perhaps I’d faced the pain and come out of it already.

As I sat in a pew toward the back of the Baptist church, watching those who had lost loved ones weep and wail, I felt…at peace. The people who were gone had enriched my life. I loved them. That wasn’t about to change just because they weren’t here. I was happy to have had the privilege of knowing them, working with them, and learning from them.

On my right sat Gavin, his shoulder pressed into mine. He’d taken a Vicodin before coming in, and he was a bit fuzzy in the eyes. On my left sat Phil, holding my hand, twisting my engagement ring between his callous long fingers. He had beautiful musician hands, strong and graceful.

Phil had shaven and trimmed his sideburns. He smelled utterly divine. Dressed in his charcoal-gray vest and suit with a pale gray button-down shirt and black tie, he looked fucking fine. His cheekbones appeared sharper, his jaw was more defined, and his mouth was a full-lipped soft contrast.

When was the last time we kissed? I mean, really kissed.

I wanted to kiss him right then and there, which would be extremely inappropriate.

Rachel, Lucy’s pretty older sister with golden hair, was giving a heartfelt speech about the loss of her only sibling. At least, I was sure she was as I sat here, fantasizing about Phil’s gorgeous mouth.

Sensing my gaze, he turned and looked into my eyes, and we connected. It had been a while since something powerful zipped between us, and I could see he felt it, too.

Phil’s pupils dilated, and I smiled, really smiled, like I hadn’t done in over a week. It caught him by surprise, and his dimples punched into his hollow cheeks. Warmth built up between us, pulsing with our heartbeats.

He’s bringing me to life once more.

Of course he was. He was the only one who could. I could see it in him, too. He was swelling with the life force that had been bombed to hell a week and a half ago. We were reaching for each other, desperate to reconnect, to—

Panic suddenly flashed in Phil’s eyes, and the energy that had plumped up between us started to shrink.

No! Don’t do this!

I begged him silently not to pull back, but he slightly shook his head. We couldn’t talk about this here. We were at a funeral service for seventeen people, for the love of the gods.

The force with which I clutched his hand could possibly crack bone, an echo of the panic that had flashed in his eyes. He squeezed back, not half as hard.

An evil little voice snaked its way into my head. He doesn’t want you anymore. You’re hideous. Have you seen yourself recently? Sure, he loves you, but who would want to kiss a face that’s scabbed up, busted, and sporting an eye that could turn a person to stone?

What if, even after I heal, he looks at me and still only sees this?

Phil hadn’t kissed me. He hadn’t touched me, other than to hold my hand or hold me when I needed a hug. He’d been treating me as a…friend.

Oh. My. God.

A flash of horror seized my heart, and I found I could cry after all.

What if I lived through this fucking hell, only to have Phil turned off from ever wanting to touch me again? If that’s the case, I wish I’d never made it out alive. I’d rather be dead than live with the knowledge that Phil could stop being in love with me.

Closing my eyes, I willed myself into my suspended deep state, tranquility enveloping me.

“Are you here?”