BooksBarbecue
Back Any Way the Wind Blows
Chapters (100)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. EPILOGUE
  96. AGATHA
  97. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  98. Also by Rainbow Rowell
  99. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  100. Newsletter Sign-up

I can’t ask him, I don’t want to say the wrong thing. So I lie very still and try to read his heavy breath, his dead weight. I’m still squeezing the blood out of the base of his tail, so I unclench my fingers one by one. The length of it slips away from my arm, uncoiling and falling onto the bed.

Is Simon okay?

I mean, obviously, no, never. The real question is—what kind of not-okay is he at the moment? And what do I need to do to deal with it?

Is he scared? Embarrassed? Overwhelmed? Did he even want that to happen? He’s never been with a guy, maybe he didn’t like it. Maybe it wasn’t what he was expecting. It’s messier than being with a girl. (Isn’t it?) (I don’t know anything about being with girls.) (I don’t know anything about being with guys.) (I know a lot about furtively bashing one out while my roommate is off fighting magickal crime, then hoping he doesn’t wonder why I’m taking a shower in the middle of the afternoon.)

Simon’s still got both hands on my jaw and cheeks. His fingers have come to life a bit. Tensing. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. (Never a good sign. His brain is an engine that only overheats.)

In a minute, maybe less, maybe in a second, the wind is going to change. We’re deep in the minefield now, with no safe path out. My hand is still on the back of his neck. All I want is to ride this out. To show him we can keep getting through every sort of breakdown together. (Is that what this was? A breakdown? Is that how I’m going to have to file it away? Because that’s going to kill me a little.) (A little more.) Is Simon okay? His fingers are awake on my face, gently stroking my cheeks. And he’s lifted his head a bit.

“Baz?” His voice is all breath.

I’ve still got him by the back of the neck. I think of minefields. I think of those mechanical bulls. Are those real? We didn’t see any in America. I squeeze his neck. I’m going to ride this out, we’re going to—

“Baz? Are you okay?”

I …

I nod.

“You’re still cold,” he says, and he brings a wing over and around me.

“I’m fine. Are—Are you okay?”

He pets my cheek. His thumb ghosts over my bottom lip. “If you are.”

I squeeze his neck. “That’s not how it works, Snow.”

“Isn’t it?”

Is it?

He hasn’t moved his leg. I haven’t moved mine. We’re slotted together and sticky. I put my arm around his waist, carefully, and flatten my hand against his back. I’ve been biting my lip. “I’m okay.”