She was awake, sitting upright with her legs over the edge of the bed.

The moment our eyes met, I knew something was different.

No, not something. Everything.

Her eyes were puffy; they looked more teal than blue. She’d been crying since waking up.

But the differences went well beyond that. She’d changed.

She knew.

It wasn’t only the recent revelation about Alex being a werelock that I saw written on her face. Somehow I got the sense that she’d remembered everything she had once known and had forgotten about our world.

Everything she had once known about me. About us.

For some reason, the Reinosos must’ve lifted the shield already. And either they’d purposely given Bethany back all of her memories from a decade ago or, as Alcaeus had predicted, all of Bethany’s blocked memories had simply returned on their own now that the shield was removed.

At first, I thought maybe I was projecting. Imagining it. It seemed utterly inconceivable that the Reinosos would have caved so soon based on my last conversation with Alex.

I could’ve simply tried to tap Bethy’s mind to check for certain that the shield was gone, but I’d never been more terrified to probe a mind before.

I found that I didn’t want to do it.

Couldn’t bear to look. Didn’t want to see what I feared most I would find: Disgust and anger. For me. Disappointment. In me.

Worst of all: Pain. Hers—caused by me.

She hadn’t spoken a word since I’d entered the room. Hadn’t moved.

I needed to say something. “I—I didn’t know how to tell you.” I paused. Waited for better words to come.

They didn’t.

“I’m sorry. What happened ten years ago … the thing is … Miles … Alex … my sister’s pack … I asked them to—to lift …”

I couldn’t even string together a damn coherent sentence to salvage the love of my life. Each progressive word tasted more grossly inadequate and idiotic on my tongue.

I should just stop.

I’d already lost her. It was too late. The signs had been there before this. She’d tried to tell me for the past two days how unhappy she was—while I’d been busy shutting her out. While I’d been too preoccupied steeling myself against the inevitable loss of her to do something constructive that might actually prevent her from slipping away—like communicate.

“I’ve been so terrified you’d hate me … once you knew. That I’d … lose you …”

My voice came out wooden, sounding all wrong. Sounding false and unfeeling. And the burn was I’d never been so earnest, so sincerely present, invested, and desperate to bare my heart before.

Why couldn’t I do this right?

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move or emote. But a fresh tear slid down her cheek.

Say something to her.

Something good.

Something meaningful.

But I could think of nothing inspiring or even remotely intelligent to express. The stakes were too high. My likelihood of failure too great.

Tears slid down both Bethy’s cheeks, catching the light from the gilded chandelier above.

Yet I remained an idiot.

I said the word “sorry” a few more times.

I asked if she hated me. She didn’t reply.

Panic gripped me, and I did something I hadn’t done since I’d been a kid.

I prayed. Not to God or to Jesus like I’d been taught to do in Bible school. But to my mom—that she’d help me find the right words to say.

Mom had loved words. She’d loved to read and share her favorite quotes from poems and literature with me. She’d been so good with her words. They had flowed from her, forever eloquent and ringing clear as a bell with their truth. Even as she’d been dying, she’d said such beautiful things. Meaningful things. Convincing things as she’d persuaded the paramedics to save my unborn sister’s life over her own.

And I’d stood there the whole time watching. Listening. Blubbering. Feeling impotent. Desperate to be able to do something to save her, while knowing I’d already failed.

Because I’d paused my video game too late. I should’ve gone to check on her when I’d heard the dish crash—the moment I’d caught the weakness in her voice. If I’d dialed 9-1-1 sooner, the paramedics might’ve come faster. They might’ve been able to save her.

But I’d been a fuck-up even at age eight.

My vision had begun to go hazy, so at first I wondered if I was seeing things when Bethy’s slender forearm lifted from her lap and her hand extended—her palm open and beckoning to me. Reaching out for me.

Then she spoke. And I knew at once for certain Bethy remembered absolutely everything that had happened between us ten years ago when she repeated the words I’d never shared with another soul but her before. They were the last words my mom had spoken to me before she’d died—after I’d finished begging Mom through my tears not to leave me, then stammered nothing but nonsense at her because I was in too much shock to know what to say.

“I know, Raul. I know. Remember, the small truth has words that are clear; the great truth has great silence.”

Bethy sniffled, her trembling lips forming a smile. “I saw that Rabindranath Tagore quote on a refrigerator magnet at the co-op market four years ago. It was written in fancy script over some cliché image—a sunset, maybe a field of flowers. I started bawling my eyes out right there in the checkout line, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why.”

She gave a startled giggle, and more tears fell, as I teleported straight in front of her.

Taking her outstretched hand in both of mine, I knelt at her feet. I felt a smile erupt on my face as my eyes watered too. Because the whole world was mad. And madly beautiful. There were people selling Stray Birds verses on cheesy fridge magnets. And Bethany Garrett got me. Loved me—for the sum-total fuck-up I was.

“I love you,” I told her. “So crazy fucking much, I don’t know what to do with it. And I’m so afraid that I won’t know how to love you the way you want me to. I remember what you told me ten years ago about your parents’ marriage—about growing up feeling like you were caught in the middle of a crazy dysfunctional unrequited love story. I’ve already messed up so much with you. I’ll probably fuck up a lot more still. And I can’t handle the thought of making you unhappy—of watching you grow to quietly despise me—”

“We’re not my parents, Raul. What we have—our love story—is so much more dysfunctional already.” She laughed and wiped at her tears. “And I want all of it. But right now, I just need to feel every hard inch of your fucking crazy coming inside me. Because I don’t want to waste anymore time living without you.”

’Nuff said.

We melted together, her soft parts meeting my hard aching ones, her mouth fusing with mine. I swore I could taste every emotion she felt for me in her kiss. And each emotion felt like a truth I hadn’t earned, a gift I didn’t deserve to keep.

But I accepted them anyway—consumed everything she gave me like a starving man as I vanished our clothing and shoved every inch of my crazy deep inside her. Because I could no longer breathe without Bethany. Didn’t want to try.

Over and over, I drove into her. Losing myself, while finding all the parts of me that had always been missing.

I drank in her every moan, her each shuddered breath, reveling in her body’s responses. And as I felt her wet, welcoming heat squeezing around me, pulling me in deeper with each heady thrust, I let the mistakes of my past go for just a moment. I set my outdated fears aside.

For the first time ever, I let everything go inside of a woman—my woman.

Mom—and Tagore—were right. There were certain truths that words could never do justice. Emotions no language could encompass.

Sometimes the greatest truths could only be conveyed in silence.

Or to the music of Bethy’s breathy I-need-to-come noises, and the sound of flesh smacking against flesh.