Page 170 of The Ampersand Effect

again either! And, no—no more near-

death experiences. I promise.

The week was going well for Tobin, despite the “near-death” volcano incident. But she could tell Grier’s week was not—and that her harrowing adventure was not something Grier had been emotionally prepared to process. Tobin hated recounting the details, but she felt worse withholding them. So, she tried to downplay the scenario as best she could, promising to amend her story when they were together again.

It felt a little manipulative, and she knew it. But she didn’t want to detract from Jonah’s memory right now, and hopedthat Grier would appreciate this temporary omission as one of genuine concern and not an indicator of manipulation or insincerity.

They’d managed to carve out a little more time for texting and FaceTime over the past few days, but Tobin could sense the distance between them growing.

She could feel Grier’s distance in the absence of her against her body, in the way she fit perfectly against her—their edges aligning in perfectly opposing symmetry. She heard the sorrow lingering in Grier’s voice when she talked about her day. Tobin could tell Grier was curating her work updates, distancing herself from the memories that lingered there—and emotionally stonewalling herself ahead of the very emotional funeral scheduled for tomorrow.

Tobin understood that Grier was protecting herself, but still, she longed for the side of her that was typically so predictably and intentionally vulnerable. She was grateful that Alix and Maren were there, and trusted they’d carry Grier through until she could return and take over.

Tobin missed Grier’s eyes—those dark, amber waves of warmth and mischief. And the way they brightened when she laughed, or narrowed when she was scheming. She missed the way her eyes darkened and hooded when they focused on Tobin—often stealing her breath. Grier’s soft, understanding eyes were the ones that Tobin had dived into, the ones that told her it was okay to trust again; they were the eyes that invited her in and told her to let go—to lose herself.

This week away, those eyes were what she missed most. And when she saw the despair in them—sharp and quiet, hitting her in the space between her ribs—Tobin’s heart clenched with acceptance of the unbearable truth: she could not carry Grier through this mourning from afar.

Grier was everything Tobin feared too much to hope for. She was everything she fought for in her life. She was kind, and funny, and flirtatious. She was brave, and determined, and patient—but only as patient as necessary. Because she was bold. Gods, Grier was bold.

And… well, there was thatandagain.

Tobin smiled at herself in the mirror, her gaze roaming over the collection of tattoos—the ink of her story on her body. Memories flickered through her mind like Polaroids: the accident, her recovery, the fights with Talia, each and every one of her tattoos, meeting Grier, their “non-date,” and every date and milestone since. Some of the seemingly insignificant moments, too.

Her eyes lingered on her newest piece, the one Dagný had just completed, before drifting to the cherry blossoms lining her torso. And… she thought to herself, an idea inking its way into her brain.

She traced the line of the cherry blossoms along her left ribs, her fingers turning and twisting until they found the scar at the base of her breast. She followed its firm edge, unable to see the mark but feeling the memory of its pain as vividly as she felt the burn of fresh ink on her arm.Yes, she thought.It’s perfect.

“Hey, Dag?” she called through the door, quickly pulling her shirt over her head. She stepped back into the living area, where Dagný was cleaning her instruments.

Dagný looked up—and a slow, confident smile spread across her face.

It was the knowing look of a friend—no, of a sister—who understood something was about to happen and was absolutely preparing to perform her ride-or-die duties with eager determination. She lifted her tattoo gun, triggering a few short bursts in the silence between them.

“What are we doing next?”

Tobin lifted her shirt, exposing the underside of her breast, revealing both the existing tattoo and the scar. Dagný already knew the story of Tobin’s accident, had seen the tattoos in bits and pieces over the years. Instinctively, Tobin’s free hand found the scar as she locked eyes with her foreign sister.

“Can you add something to the branches?” Her voice was startlingly steady, as if this was a moment pre-ordained in her future—as if it had always been what would be.

Dagný studied the tattoo, then the scar, and met Tobin’s gaze again. “I’d be honored. Tell me about it.”

Grier was her tomorrow—the one who echoed through her soul from some unknown moment in the future. That moment was now. She was everything Tobin had dared to dream of, and then forbidden herself to believe in. But here they were: together. Except they weren’t. And Tobin intended to change that.

She described her vision to Dagný, then lay on her side as Dagný prepped her skin. Tobin pulled out her phone and logged onto the airline’s website to reschedule her flight home.

She had been wrong before. Grier’s eyes weren’t the kind you got lost in. No—they were the kind of eyes in which you found your way home.

Grier was her home. Grier was her tomorrow. And she wanted to be with her today.

Thirty

Grier hugged Molly. Her cheeks were stained with the nearly constant presence of tears, but she refused to hide her grief. She should have been the one offering comfort, yet it was Molly holding her up.

Molly’s stoicism at her son’s funeral might have seemed admirable—if Grier hadn’t witnessed the way she’d broken down in the days preceding the loss of her son. Now she stood affectless, barren of emotion from having felt so much of it in recent weeks. Grier knew Molly would feel again, but it wouldn’t be today. And that was okay.

Micah stood pressed against his mother, one thumb in his mouth, the other hand coiled in the loose fabric of Molly’s skirt. He looked sad, but he mostly just looked tired. He didn’t understand what was happening, only that his brother was asleep in that box behind them—and he was never going to wake up.

Grier gave Molly a squeeze on her arms and whispered an ineffective “I’m so sorry,” into her ear before pulling away. She turned before Molly could see her thinly veiled composure crack again, stepping into the safety of the small huddle formed by Alix and Maren, with Haleigh and Grant a few feet behind them.They quietly guided her toward a seat in the funeral parlor where Jonah’s final goodbye would take place.