“No! That’s not what I meant. I just—”
“Screw me for asking, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
I sink my teeth into my lip, wishing I weren’t so tired. Wishing my thoughts and words were easier to align and articulate. Wishing there weren’t tears threatening to fill my eyes for the zillionth time tonight.
“Carter…” My voice is hollow. “I only meant… you don’t have to worry about me anymore. Not because you don’t have the right to, but… because I don’t deserve it.” I can’t look at him when I say these words, so I stare down at my bare feet instead. “It’s my fault Chloe’s like this right now. That she’s suffering so much. If I’d properly sorted through my grief, taken a minute to process before reacting so strongly— Maybe she wouldn’t be— be—”
My words deteriorate into choked sobs. I don’t know when, exactly, I started weeping. I just know, now that I’ve started, I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to stop. The floodgates are open and they show no signs of closing again. Three months of pent up anguish and loss and guilt and regret are pouring out of my eyes.
I press useless fists against the sockets, hoping to stem the flow, trying to hide my breakdown from Carter. What a foolish hope — even when I’m not a mess of tears, he sees straight through all my defenses. It’s been that way since the very beginning.
I sniff morosely. “I’m sorry, I—”
Strong arms close around me without warning. My apologies evaporate as, abruptly, I find myself pressed against a broad chest, the familiar scent of smoke and spice dizzying my senses. I suck in a sharp breath that does nothing to steady me.
It’s been so long since I’ve been held, the sensation is almost painful. My heart slams violently into my ribcage. My tears trickle into the fabric of his shirt, a steady stream of sorrow.
I tell myself to pull away, that it isn’t fair to use him as a safe zone for my emotional detonation… but I can’t seem to listen to my own executive orders. My limbs physically refuse to detangle themselves from his body.
“I’m s-sorry.” I hiccup violently. “This isn’t— I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh.” Carter’s mouth is by my ear, buried in my hair. “Just… let go of it. All that shit you’ve been carrying around inside? All that pain that’s swallowing you up?Let it go, Emilia.”
For quite a long time, I do just that. I cry and cry until my puffy eyes run dry, until there are no more tears left to shed. I cry until I can no longer recall exactly what set me off in the first place. Until I feel empty of everything except the sensation of strong hands on my back, warm lips at my temple, steady heartbeats beneath my cheek, a metronome reassuring me that we are here. We are alive. We are still breathing.
“I think I’m okay, now,” I whisper against his collarbone. I don’t pull back — I can’t bring myself to, now that I’m in his arms. Now that I’m touching him again after so long apart. If we have to separate, it won’t be my doing.
But…
Carter doesn’t pull away either.
Dawn is breaking outside, lightening the hall around us in incremental degrees, staining us in shades of the palest pink; a rose-colored requiem for all we’ve endured. Still, we don’t move. We don’t let go. We stand there, our limbs intertwined like one being. One body, one soul. And I think, if I could pick one spot to spend the last moments of my life, it might be this one.
Right here.
Wrapped in warm arms at sunrise on a cold winter day.
“I…” Carter clears his throat, his tone hesitant. “I’ve been really fucking mad at you, these past few months.”
It’s such a strange thing to say, given that we’re still entwined in an embrace. I can’t help the short burst of air that flies from my mouth — half laugh, half sob.
“Yeah, well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been pretty fucking mad at myself, too.”
His chin shifts to rest against the crown of my head. I want desperately to pull back so I can look into his eyes, but I refuse to create even the smallest ounce of distance between us.
“It doesn’t make me feel better,” he mutters lowly. “I don’t want you punishing yourself. Not eating, not sleeping… thinking about that drives me insane. I don’t want you blaming yourself for everything that’s happened. Especially not with Chloe. She’s a big girl. And even if you set in motion this particular downward spiral… she’s struggled with addiction for a long, long time. This is not a problem you created.”
I shake my head, rejecting the words. “But I exacerbated it. If I’d only—”
“Stop. You can contemplate all thebutsandwhat ifsandif onlysin the world; it won’t change a damn thing. What’s done is done. You can’t torture yourself over the past forever. Not if you want to move forward.”
The question is there, balanced on the tip of my tongue.
But can we ever truly move forward?
I’m too afraid of the answer to ask. Instead, I say the only thing I can — the thing I’ve been wanting to say to him all day, since he stepped back into my life.
“Carter, I — I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For all of it.”