I don’t know how long we stand this way. Long enough that Reid’s breathing regulates, long enough that I loosen my arms, switching from clutching him tight to rubbing my palms up and down the broad, tight muscles of his back, long enough that I’m sure we both grow stiff and achy, our height differential never more uncomfortable than when we stand like this. When he pulls back from me, he keeps his head tipped down, and I take his hands from my waist, pull him over to the bed. We sit beside each other, the pages of his letter between us.

He clears his throat. “Thank you. For coming all this way.”

“You told me to.”

He still won’t raise his eyes to mine. “It was . . . an impulse,” he says, running a hand through his hair again.

“It was a good one. I loved your letter.”

His eyes flick upward, a question in them. Then he lowers them again. “Meg, I am sure I have made such a mess of your life. I’m afraid to ask what you’ve been through, these past couple of days.”

“The worst of it was not knowing if you were okay. Everything else, I can handle.”

Maybe I say this more confidently than I deserve to, given some of my lower moments over this past weekend.

But right this second, Reid doesn’t need to know about those.

Reid shakes his head. He idly toys with the buttons at his wrists, as though he’s considering undoing them. “There was this window,” he says quietly. “After they took my phone, I mean. I had to turn it over for a couple of days. Anyway, there was this short window of time where I could call you. And then I . . .”

He trails off, stops with the buttons. His face flushes. “I couldn’t remember your phone number. In my phone, you’re the letters of your name. I’d never memorized the number.”

He sounds so utterly stunned by this. I can imagine him somewhere, a phone clutched in his hand, his heart thudding in panic, numbers failing him.

“And then it was chaos. For hours and hours.”

“It must’ve been awful,” I say. I reach out, over the pages of the letter. I gently unbutton his cuffs for him, and he watches silently until I finish.

“Once your name hit the news, I—well, I’m reasonably sure I threatened Vic. To let me go to you. It’s all something of a blur.”

“Wow. I’ve seen you throw a punch, Hotshot, but I’m pretty sure you’re not a match for Vic.”

For the first time since I’ve gotten here, I see the barest flicker of the swoonsh, but then it fades. “I can’t imagine what you thought.”