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Back Any Way the Wind Blows Save as PDF
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

“Simon,” I say, my hands in the back of his hair. “My darling. My love. It’s all right.”

“I can’t,” he sobs.

“I know,” I say, stroking him. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m here.”

“Baz…”

“I’m here, love.”

19

SIMON

It’s been a while since either of us said anything.

It’s been a while since I stopped blubbering.

As soon as I loosened my panic-hold on Baz, he pulled away from me a bit. But he’s still here. Lying quietly on one of my wings. Probably thinking about how much sex he could be having if he were with literally anyone other than me.

I mean, have a look at him—he’s the most fuckable person alive. Or otherwise.

I’m the problem. As is always true, in literally every situation. It’s me.

I’ve been here before. Wanting to crawl out of my skin and leave myself for dead after a miserable attempt to do more than kiss. What I’d normally do now is stand up and walk out of the room. Then Baz would leave the flat, not wanting to embarrass me further, nor to dwell on the fact that he’s stuck with me.

But he can’t leave—this is his flat. And if I leave, it would be in direct violation of the promise I made not to leave. Or not to give up. Or whatever.

Baz sighs. I know all his sighs; I lived with them for eight years. This one means: Simon Snow is a chronic pain in my neck.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask. I’m on my back with my arms up, my elbows folded over my face.

“No.” Baz’s voice is quiet. “Are you going to?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“That’s something.”

I breathe out hard. “I want to, though. I kinda want to die when I think of having to face you again.”

Baz pulls my arms away from my face. “Here.” He’s hovering over me. “Get it over with.”

My eyes slide away from him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” he says.

“Because apologies don’t matter?”

“No—because you don’t have anything to be sorry for. Come on, Snow, look at me.”

I try. He looks tired. And sad. And embarrassed.

“I don’t mind this,” he says. “Any of it.”

“Oh my God, Baz—don’t lie to me! This isn’t what anyone wants to happen in bed.” I try to cover my face again, but his hand is on my cheek. He’s too close.

“I’m not lying! I don’t mind comforting you, Simon. Or holding you. I don’t mind giving you what you need, whatever it is you need. I prefer it to you pushing me away. Or ignoring me.”