Pretending (Westshore Series #1)

EPILOGUE

***NOT EDITED YET 

Another page turns on the calendar, April now, not March. Kendra visits. She and the inpatient team are putting together a transition plan for me so I can shift from inpatient care, back to real life.

"You're absolutely glowing, Juliet. You look incredible," she tells me, folding her hands around her coffee cup and tilting her head to the side, studying me further. "I'm proud of you."

I let her words wash through me like a calming cleanse, my own smile blooming. The truth is, I feel incredible. Lighter. Softer. Free and weightless.

The last months have been nothing short of challenging, filled with uphill battles, hours upon hours of counselling and mental health struggles, and a promise to myself every single morning that I will be better than I was the day before.

But today is the day I go home.

Back to my friends.

Back to Warner.

It's summer now so Warner got the keys to the house and Abby has been sending me emails with pictures of the house. She has already decorated her room and it makes me excited to do the same to mine. My own room. Living with my best friends and my boyfriend.

Kendra is the one taking me back. Warner tried to convince her to let him come but not even he could charm her into changing her mind. But now that I'm in the car with Kendra I'm glad she is with me, I'm glad I'm not being thrust back into the normal world without her.

We pull up to the house Warner showed me months ago and I see that they have strung up fairy lights around the porch and decorated the porch swing with some cute pillows.

The car stops and I freeze up when I get out of the car. I shouldn't hesitate in the front yard. I should rush right inside and run into Warner's arms. But I wonder how different he will seem up close in person. I worry about the awkwardness of being apart for so long. Will we fit the same way we used to? Will I feel the same in his arms? Or will everything be irreparably different?

I muster a bit of courage to walk forward. And by the time I climb the porch, the door swings open. I freeze on the highest stair and watch the screen door clatter into the side of the house. Then he emerges, wearing a pair of dark jeans, a black tee, and a necklace I gave him for Christmas.

I open my mouth to say something, but I can't stop my eyes from grazing every inch of him. The way his brown hair is styled, full on top, shorter on the sides. The way his cheekbones sharpen makes him look deadly and gorgeous. The way he reaches up and rubs his lips, as though hoping they'll touch mine. He rakes my body with the same impatience, and then his head tilts to the side, our eyes finally meeting.

"Hi," he says, breaking into a breath-taking smile. His chest falls heavily, nearly in sync with my uneven rhythm.

"Hi," I whisper. A large distance separates us, reminding me of when I first left for treatment. Picking up a foot and closing the gap feels like crawling up a ninety-degree angle. I need him to help me reach the top.

He takes a step near me, snapping the tension. All these sensations burst in my belly. I love him so much. I missed him so much. For months, I felt the pain of being separated from my best friend while trying to fight my disorder. I needed him to tell me everything was going to be okay.

And then he kisses me, so urgently, so passionately that my lungs suffocate. His tongue gently slips into my mouth, and I savour each and every movement. He kneads the back of my head, gripping my hair, yanking and sending my nerves on overdrive.

His hands fall to my ass, and he effortlessly lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, squeezing tightly into a front piggyback. I hook my arms underneath his and press my cheek to his hard chest, listening to the unsteady beat of his heart. We're so close, but I still ache to be closer.