Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood

            Yeah.

            I get out as fast as I can. I’m not ten steps from the door when I hear feet running behind, then around me. Levi stops in front of me, a near-desperate expression in his eyes. “Bee, we can still fix this. Come back in there and—”

            “I—I need to go.” I try to keep my tone firm. “But you need to stay in there and make sure that BLINK actually happens.”

            He gives me a disbelieving look. “Not without you. Bee, we have no idea what really went wrong. Boris is overreacting and Trevor’s a fucking idiot. I’m not going to—”

            “Levi.” I let myself reach for his wrist. Close my hand around it and squeeze. “I’m asking you to go back in there and do what you have to do to make sure BLINK happens. Please. Do it for Peter. For Penny. And for me.” It’s a low blow. I can see it in his narrowing eyes, in the set of his jaw. But when I start walking again, he doesn’t follow.

            And right now, that’s all I want.





23





AMYGDALA, AGAIN: FEAR



REIKE WON’T ANSWER my calls, because she’s finally traveling to Norway. It might be for the best: I’d just cry at her about neuronal depolarization and electromagnetic induction, which can’t be healthy for me, or edifying for her. I want to visit Guy in the hospital to . . . bring him an Edible Arrangement? Offer my firstborn in penance? Self-flagellate at the foot of his bed? I’m not even sure where they brought him, if he’s still there, and I doubt he wants to see me. Maybe I should text him. Do you hate me for giving you a seizure through my carelessness and sheer incompetence? Yes, No, Maybe, pls circle.

            It’s probably a good thing that I’m alone with my thoughts. Paradoxically, it allows me not to think too much. Things, bad things, are going to happen soon. My connection with WWMD will be disclosed, a community I spent years building will turn against me, and I have no illusion that Trevor will renew my contract. It’s staggering, but if I don’t talk about it I can pretend it’s not happening.

            I eat a banana—first thing I’ve had in twenty-four hours—and go to my room. I pull my suitcase from under my bed, dust it off, and start folding my clothes. Jeans. Jeans. A skirt I haven’t gotten a chance to wear yet. My favorite teal top. A rain poncho. Jeans.

            The suitcase is almost full when my doorbell rings. I sigh and force myself to go to the door, but I suspect I already know who it is. Turns out, I’m right.

            “Hey.” Levi looks tired. And like he’s been running a hand through his hair. And very, very beautiful. My heart knots. “You’re not answering your phone. I was worried.”

            “Sorry, I forgot to check it. Is everything okay?”

            He gives me a slightly incredulous look that I take to mean No, absolutely nothing is okay and follows me into the living room. Through the balcony doors, my eyes catch the hummingbird feeder. I should take it down. Pack it. But the hummingbirds . . . Maybe I could ask Rocío to hang it for me. Wouldn’t want the little guy who’s been coming around to find himself without dinner.

            “—from Guy,” Levi’s saying.

            I whirl around. “How is he?”

            “Fine—discharged. He asked me to tell you not to freak out, and that he probably deserved it. And to thank you for the trip of a lifetime.” Levi rolls his eyes, but I can see the relief in him.

            “Can I— Did he say if I can go see him?”

            “He’s resting, but we can go tomorrow. He’d love to see you.” His tone hardens ever so slightly. “Bee, he knows it’s not your fault. A million things could have gone wrong, and none are exclusively your responsibility. Boris rushed the demonstration—”

            “Because I let him rush it.” I press my fingers into my eyes. “I told him I could make it. And this mess would have happened anyway, just not publicly. I must have done something wrong. I must have forgotten to account for something—I don’t know. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it and I cannot figure out what the fuck I did wrong, which means that someone else, someone who has a clue what they’re doing, should be on this project with you.”

            He blinks. “What do you mean?”

            “What I just said, I guess.” I shrug. “I hope they send Hank. Josh is a prick. And you have to help me ensure that Rocío stays on—she deserves this. And could you write her a rec letter for grad school? I don’t know if mine will—”