Before You Let Go
I stepped forward and hugged him.
Hard.
He froze for one breath, then wrapped his arms around me. His shirt smelled like smoke and coffee and panic. I buried my face against his chest, trying to convince myself he was still here.
Still warm.
Still breathing.
Still alive.
“You scared me,” I whispered.
His chin brushed the top of my head. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
That made me hold him tighter.
Behind him, across the street, between the smoke and the flashing lights, I saw a man in a gray suit standing under the broken sign of Lucky Wok.