by Tahereh Mafi
“No.”
“C’mon—”
“Kenji, stop.” I get to my feet, too, anger and heartbreak colliding.
“Don’t do this,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t force me to do something I don’t want to do. Because if I have to, I will tackle you to the floor, J, I swear—”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I say quietly. The fight leaves my body. I feel suddenly exhausted, hollowed out by heartache. “I know you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t make me leave him behind.”
“Ella?”
I turn around, a bolt of feeling leaving me breathless. Just the sound of his voice has my heart racing in a way that feels dangerous. The jarring shift from fear to joy has my head pounding, delirious with feeling. I’d been so worried, all this time, and to know now—
He’s unharmed.
His face, unmarked. His body, intact. He’s perfect and beautiful and he’s here. I don’t know how, but he’s here.
I clap my hands over my mouth.
I’m shaking my head and searching desperately for the right words but find I can’t speak. I can only stare at him as he steps forward, his eyes bright and burning.
He pulls me into his arms.
Sobs break my body, the culmination of a thousand fears and worries I hadn’t allowed myself to process. I press my face into his neck and try, but fail, to pull myself together. “I’m sorry,” I say, gasping the words, tears streaming fast down my face. “Aaron, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
I feel him stiffen.
He pulls away, staring at me with strange, scared eyes. “Why would you say that?” He looks around wildly, glances at Kenji, who only shakes his head. “What happened, love?” He pushes the hair out of my eyes, takes my face in his hands. “What are you sorry for?”
Nazeera pushes past us.
She nods at me, just once, before heading to the cockpit. Moments later I hear the roar of the engine, the electric sounds of equipment coming online.
I hear her voice in the speakers overhead, her crisp, certain commands filling the plane. She tells us to take our seats and get strapped in and I stare at Warner just once more, promising myself that we’ll have a chance to talk. Promising myself that I’ll make this right.
When we take off, he’s holding my hand.
We’ve been climbing higher for several minutes now, and Kenji and Nazeera were generous enough to give us some illusion of privacy. They both shot me separate but similar looks of encouragement just before they slipped off into the cockpit. It finally feels safe to keep talking.
But emotion is like a fist in my chest, hard and heavy.
There’s too much to say. Too much to discuss. I almost don’t even know where to start. I don’t know what happened to him, what he learned or what he remembers. I don’t know if he’s feeling the same things I’m feeling anymore. And all the unknowns are starting to scare me.
“What’s wrong?” he says.
He’s turned in his seat to face me. He reaches up, touches my face, and the feeling of his skin against mine is overwhelming—so powerful it leaves me breathless. Feeling shoots up my spine, sparks in my nerves.
“You’re afraid, love. Why are you afraid?”
“Do you remember me?” I whisper. I have to force myself to remain steady, to fight back the tears that refuse to die. “Do you remember me the way I remember you?”
Something changes in his expression. His eyes change, pull together in pain.
He nods.
“Because I remember you,” I say, my voice breaking on the last word. “I remember you, Aaron. I remember everything. And you have to know— You have to know how sorry I am. For the way I left things between us.” I’m crying again. “I’m sorry for everything I said. For everything I put you thr—”
“Sweetheart,” he says gently, the question in his eyes resolving to a measure of understanding. “None of that matters anymore. That fight feels like it happened in another lifetime. To different people.”
I wipe away my tears. “I know,” I say. “But being here— All of this— I thought I might never see you again. And it killed me to remember how I left things between us.”
When I look up again Warner is staring at me, his own eyes bright, shining. I watch the movement in his throat as he swallows, hard.
“Forgive me,” I whisper. “I know it all seems stupid now, but I don’t want to take anything for granted anymore. Forgive me for hurting you. Forgive me for not trusting you. I took my pain out on you and I’m so sorry. I was selfish, and I hurt you, and I’m so sorry.”
He’s silent for so long I almost can’t bear it.
When he finally speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. “Love,” he says, “there’s nothing to forgive.”
Warner
Ella is asleep in my arms.
Ella.
I can’t really think of her as Juliette anymore.
We’ve been in the air for an hour now, and Ella cried until her tears ran dry, cried for so long I thought it might kill me. I didn’t know what to say. I was so stunned I didn’t know how to soothe her. And only when the exhaustion overcame the tears did she finally go still, collapsing fully and completely into my arms. I’ve been holding her against my chest for at least half an hour, marveling at what it does to me to just be this close to her. Every once in a while, it feels like a dream. Her face is pressed against my neck. She’s clinging to me like she might never let go and it does something to me, something heady, to know that she could possibly want me—or need me—like this. It makes me want to protect her even if she doesn’t need protecting. It makes me want to carry her away. Lose track of time.
Gently, I stroke her hair. Press my lips to her forehead.
She stirs, but only slightly.
I had not been expecting this.
Of all the things I thought might happen when I finally saw her, I could never have dreamed a scenario such as this.
No one has ever apologized to me before. Not like this.
I’ve had men fall to their knees before me, begging me to spare their lives—but I can’t remember a single time in my life when someone apologized to me for hurting my feelings. No one has ever cared about my feelings long enough to apologize for hurting them. In my experience, I’m usually the monster. I’m the one expected to make amends.
And now—
I’m stunned. Stunned by the experience, by how strange it feels. All this time, I’d been preparing to win her back. To try to convince her, somehow, to see past my demons. And up until just this moment, I don’t think I was ever truly convinced anyone would see me as human enough to forgive my sins. To give me a second chance.
But now, she knows everything.
Every dark corner of my life. Every awful thing I ever tried to hide. She knows and she still loves me.
God. I run a tired hand across my face. She asked me to forgive her. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. I feel joy and terror. My heart is heavy with something I don’t even know how to describe.
Gratitude, perhaps.
The ache in my chest has grown stronger, more painful. Being near her is somehow both a relief and a new kind of agony. There’s so much ahead of us, so much we still need to face, together, but right now I don’t want to think about any of it. Right now I just want to enjoy her proximity. I want to watch the gentle motions of her breathing. I want to inhale the soft scent of her hair and lean into the steadying warmth of her body.
Carefully, I touch my fingers to her cheek.
Her face is smooth, free from pain and tension. She looks peaceful. She looks beautiful.
My love.
My beautiful love.
Her eyes flutter open and I worry, for a moment, that I might’ve spoken out loud. But then she looks up at me, her eyes still soft with sleep, and I bring my hand to her face, this time trailing my fingers lightly along her jaw. She closes her eyes again. Smiles.
“I love you,” she whispers.
A shock
of feeling swells inside of me, makes it hard for me to breathe. I can only look at her, studying her face, the lines and angles I’ve somehow always known.
Slowly, she sits up.
She leans back, stretching out her sore, stiff muscles. When she catches me watching her, she offers me a shy smile.
She leans in, takes my face in her hands.
“Hi,” she says, her words soft, her hands gentle as she tilts my chin down, toward her mouth. She kisses me, once, her lips full and sweet. It’s a tender kiss, but feeling strikes through me with a sharp, desperate need. “I missed you so much,” she says. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” She kisses me again, this time deeper, hungrier, and my heart beats so fast it roars in my ears. I can hardly hear anything else. I can’t bring myself to speak.
I feel stunned.
When we break apart, her eyes are worried. “Aaron,” she says. “Is everything okay?”
And I realize then, in a moment that terrifies me, that I want this, forever. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to build a future with her. I want to grow old with her.
I want to marry her.
Juliette Ella
“Aaron?” I say again, this time softly. “Are you all right?”
He blinks, startled. “Yes,” he says, drawing in a sharp breath. “Yes. Yes, I’m perfect.”
I manage a small smile. “I’m glad you finally agree with me.”
He frowns, confused, and then, as realization hits—
He blushes.
And for the first time in weeks, a full, genuine grin spreads across my face. It feels good. Human.
But Aaron shakes his head, clearly mortified. He can’t meet my eyes. His voice is careful, quiet when he says, “That’s not at all what I meant.”
“Hey,” I say, my smile fading. I take his hands in mine, squeeze. “Look at me.”
He does.
And I forget what I was going to say.
He has that kind of face. The kind of face that makes you forget where you are, who you are, what you might’ve been about to do or say. I’ve missed him so much. Missed his eyes. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like forever since the last time I saw him, a lifetime full of horrible revelations that threatened to break us both. I can’t believe he’s here, that we found each other and made things right.
It’s no small thing.
Even with everything else—with all the other horrors we’ve yet to contend with—being here with him feels like a huge victory. Everything feels new. My mind feels new, my memories, new. Even Aaron’s face is new, in its own way. He looks a little different to me now.
Familiar.
Like he’s always been here. Always lived in my heart.
His hair, thick and golden and beautiful, is how I remember it best—Evie must’ve done something to his hair, too, somehow. And even though he looks more exhausted than I’d like, his face is still striking. Beautiful, sharp lines. Piercing green eyes so light and bright they’re almost painful to look at. Everything about him is finely crafted. His nose. His chin. His ears and eyebrows. He has a beautiful mouth.
I linger too long there, my eyes betraying my mind, and Aaron smiles. Aaron. Calling him Warner doesn’t feel right anymore.
“What are you doing, love?”
“Just enjoying the view,” I say, still staring at his mouth. I reach up, touch two fingers to his bottom lip. Memories flood through me in a sudden, breathless rush. Long nights. Early mornings. His mouth, on me. Everywhere. Over and over again.
I hear him exhale, suddenly, and I glance up at him.
His eyes are darker, heavy with feeling. “What are you thinking?”
I shake my head, feeling suddenly shy. It’s strange, considering how close we’ve been, that I’d feel shy around him now. But he feels at once old and new to me—like we’re still learning about each other. Still discovering what our relationship means and what we mean to each other. Things feel deeper, desperate.
More important.
I take his hands again. “How are you?” I whisper.
He’s staring at our hands, entwined, when he says: “My father is still alive.”
“I heard. I’m so sorry.”
He nods. Looks away.
“Did you see him?”
Another nod. “I tried to kill him.”
I go still.
I know how hard it’s been for Aaron to face his father. Anderson has always been his most formidable opponent; Aaron has never been able to fight him head on. He’s never been able to bring himself to actually follow through with his threats to kill his father.
It’s astonishing he even came close.
And then Aaron tells me how his father has semi-functional healing powers, how Evie tried to re-create the twins’ DNA for him.
“So your dad is basically invincible?”
Aaron laughs quietly. Shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It makes him harder to kill, but I definitely think there’s a chink to be found in his armor.” He sighs. “Believe it or not, the strangest part of the whole thing was that, afterward, my father was proud of me. Proud of me for trying to kill him.” Aaron looks up, looks me in the eye. “Can you imagine?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I can.”
Aaron’s eyes go deep with emotion. He pulls me close. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry for everything they did to you. For everything they’ve put you through. It kills me to know that you were suffering. That I couldn’t be there for you.”
“I don’t want to think about it right now.” I shake my head. “Right now all I want is this. I just want to be here. With you. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.”
“Ella,” he says softly.
A wave of feeling washes over me. Hearing him say my name—my real name—makes everything feel real. Makes us feel real.
I meet his eyes.
He smiles. “You know— I feel everything when you touch me, love. I can feel your excitement. Your nervousness. Your pleasure. And I love it,” he says quietly. “I love the way you respond to me. I love the way you want me. I feel it, when you lose yourself, the way you trust me when we’re together. And I feel your love for me,” he whispers. “I feel it in my bones.”
He turns away.
“I have loved you my entire life.” He looks up, looks at me with so much feeling it nearly breaks my heart. “And after everything we’ve been through—after all the lies and the secrets and the misunderstandings—I feel like we’ve been given a chance to start fresh. I want to start over,” he says. “I never want to lie to you again. I want us to trust each other and be true partners in everything. No more misunderstandings,” he says. “No more secrets. I want us to begin again, here, in this moment.”
I nod, pulling back so I can see his face more clearly. Emotions well in my throat, threaten to overcome me. “I want that, too. I want that so much.”
“Ella,” he says, his voice rough with feeling. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
My heart stops.
I stare at him, uncertain, thoughts pinwheeling in my head. I touch his cheek and he looks away, takes a sudden, shaky breath.
“What are you saying?” I whisper.
“I love you, Ella. I love you more th—”
“Wow. You two seriously couldn’t wait until we got back to base, huh? You couldn’t spare my eyes?”
The sound of Kenji’s voice pulls me suddenly, abruptly out of my head. I turn too quickly, awkwardly disengaging from Aaron’s body.
Aaron, on the other hand, goes suddenly white.
Kenji throws a thin airplane pillow at him. “You’re welcome,” he says.
Aaron chucks the pillow back without a word, his eyes burning in Kenji’s direction. He seems both shocked and angry, and he leans forward in his seat, his elbows balanced on his knees, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes.
“You are a plague upon my life, Kishimoto.”
“I said y
ou’re welcome.”
Aaron sighs, heavily. “What I would give to snap your neck right now, you have no idea.”
“Hey—you have no idea what I just did for you,” Kenji says. “So I’m going to repeat myself one more time: You are welcome.”
“I never asked for your help.”
Kenji crosses his arms. When he speaks, he overenunciates each word, like he might be talking to an idiot. “I don’t think you’re thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking clearer than I ever have.”
“You really thought that would be a good idea?” Kenji says, shaking his head. “Here? Now?”
Aaron’s jaw clenches. He looks mutinous.
“Bro, this is not the moment.”
“And when, exactly, did you become an expert on this sort of thing?”
I look between the two of them. “What is going on?” I say. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Nothing,” they say at the same time.
“Um, okay.” I stare at them, still confused, and I’m about to ask another question when Kenji says, suddenly:
“Who wants lunch?”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “We have lunch?”
“It’s pretty awful,” Kenji says, “but Nazeera and I have a picnic basket we brought with us, yeah.”
“I guess I’m up for trying the contents of the mystery basket.” I smile at Aaron. “Are you hungry?”
But Aaron says nothing. He’s still staring at the floor. I touch his hand and, finally, he sighs. “I’m not hungry,” he says.
“Not an option,” Kenji says sharply. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t eaten a damn thing since you got out of fake prison.”
Aaron frowns. And when he looks up, he says, “It wasn’t fake prison. It was a very real prison. They poisoned me for weeks.”
“What?” My eyes widen. “You never t—”
Kenji cuts me off with the wave of his hand. “They gave you food, water, and let you keep the clothes on your back, didn’t they?”
“Yes, but—”
He shrugs. “Sounds like you had a little vacation.”
Aaron sighs. He looks both annoyed and exhausted as he runs a hand down the length of his face.
