by Julie Wright
His warmth and energy filled me with life; the waiting seemed to unload itself into that one moment of heat—like a flash fire—brilliant, beautiful.
It was almost physically painful when he came to his senses and broke away, sticking out his arm to put me at a distance and trying to fumble with the Orbital at his wrist, trying to run away from me again. “No.” He mumbled that several times while trying to make his hands work at the Orbital. “I won’t . . . I can’t.”
I grabbed his hand firmly and shoved him back down onto the bench. I scooted next to him, making certain to keep hold of his hand in mine so he couldn’t jump away to somewhen else. “I’ve seen the future,” I said. “I’ve seen our child. Our child, Tag. And he’s beautiful! And he eats like a horse. I hope we make good money, because he’s going to be one expensive kid. And he’s beautiful!” My voice cracked. “That means that we find a cure for you. That means we have a future together. But we have to stay together to make that future happen. Between the two of us, you with your brains and me with my research, it probably won’t even take too long. I love you, Tag. And this is our sliver of midnight—this very moment we’re standing in. This is the sliver of time when we make the right decisions for our lives. The first time you spoke to me, you told me I was dead. Now, I’ve got a message for you—”
I gripped his hand tighter. “You’re alive, Taggert Shaw. And it’s time for us to live.”