Chapter 9: Two Years

He lifted the chain over his head with both hands.

The ring slid down into his palm.

It was warm from his skin.

"Left hand," I said.

He held out his hand.

I pushed the ring onto his finger, past the knuckle, until it sat where it belonged.

It fit.

It had always fit.

From the hallway came a muffled, "OH MY GOD," and the sound of Bridie dragging Maisie away by her sweatshirt.

Nate looked at his hand.

He turned it over and back.

"It feels strange," he said.

"Good strange or bad strange?"

"I'd forgotten it weighed anything."

I stood up.

"Come home with me."

"Roxy."

"Not to talk."

His eyes went dark and went straight to my mouth.

"Your cousin's in the hall."

"My cousin has a bat. I'm sure she'll let us pass."

We went out through the laundromat, because the driver was still parked by the fountain.

The woman at the folding table looked up and said, "Oh good, you brought him back," and went on folding towels.

Upstairs I didn't turn on the light.

The window threw a yellow square on the floor from the streetlamp, and the dryers rolled under our feet like slow thunder.

I locked the door.

Nate stood in the middle of the room with his hands at his sides, and I could see him shaking.

"I don't know where to put my hands," he said.

"I do."

I took his wrists and set his palms on my hips.

His breath went out of him all at once.

"Say something," I said.

"I'm trying not to ruin it."

"You can't ruin it. I'm too angry."

"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

I pulled his shirt up over his head.

He let me.

His chest was warmer than I remembered, and harder.

The scar on his ribs, from a fence he'd fallen on at sixteen, was exactly where my mouth knew to find it.

I kissed it.

He made a low sound, and his fingers tightened on my hips.

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