Page 101 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“Okay…it’s okay,” Adam says softly, his panic giving way to something gentler. “It’s okay, Caitlin. Just let it out. I’m here.”
I feel him move closer, the warmth of his body next to mine. He hesitates, then puts his arm around my shoulders. The familiar weight of it breaks something else inside me, and I turn toward him instinctively, burying my face against his shoulder. He smells like sawdust and sweat and that underlying scent that is uniquely Adam. It’s achingly familiar, like coming home after a long journey.
He holds me while I cry, one hand making slow circles on my back, the other cradling my head against him. He doesn’t try to shush me or tell me to calm down. He just sits with me, solid and steady, letting me purge months of hurt and anger and confusion.
I don’t know how long we sit like that. Long enough that my sobs eventually subside into hiccuping breaths, long enough that the shoulder of his t-shirt is soaked with my tears. I pull back slightly, embarrassed now at my outburst.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”
“Don’t apologize,” Adam says, his own voice rough with emotion. “Not to me. Not ever.”
I wipe my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “I want to go home,” I say, the words coming out small and vulnerable.
“Of course.” Adam nods, already standing, helping me to my feet. “I’ll drive you. You’re in no condition to get behind the wheel.”
I don’t argue. My head is pounding, my eyes swollen and burning. I let him lead me to his truck, too drained to protest when he opens the passenger door for me and helps me in like I’m made of glass.
The drive back to town passes in a blur. I stare out the window, watching the familiar landscape slide by, my thoughts jumbled. Occasionally, a fresh wave of tears washes over me, and I cry quietly, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window.
Adam doesn’t try to fill the silence with words. He drives steadily, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us, palm up, an invitation I’m not ready to accept.
By the time we pull up to the townhouse I share with Rachel, my eyes feel like they’ve been scrubbed with sandpaper. Adam comes around to help me out of the truck, his hand under my elbow steady and warm.
We’re barely through the door when Rachel appears in the hallway, her expression shifting from concern to fury as her eyes land on Adam.
“What the hell did you do?” she demands, advancing on him like a storm cloud. “We had an understanding, Kelley. It hasn’t even been a week!”
Adam steps back, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I know, I’m sorry. We were talking about what happened last year, and—”
“I don’t care what you were talking about!” Rachel cuts him off, her voice rising. “You promised you wouldn’t make her cry again!”
Through my tear-blurred vision, I see Adam’s face crumple with guilt and alarm. He somehow manages to look bothmiserable and afraid for his life, and something inside me shifts. Suddenly, inexplicably, I start to laugh. It’s a small sound at first, just a hiccup of amusement, but it grows until I’m doubled over, laughing so hard my sides hurt.
Both Adam and Rachel turn to stare at me, identical expressions of confusion on their faces.
“You can’t kill him, Rachel,” I manage between gasps of laughter. “He hasn’t finished Grandma’s house yet.”
Rachel’s eyes narrow. “That’s not funny, Caitlin.”
“Sure it is,” I insist, wiping at fresh tears of laughter or sadness, I’m not even sure anymore. “You’ve been threatening to murder him for months, and now you can’t because he hasn’t even finished the kitch…I need him to finish the…”
I can’t even finish my sentence; I’m laughing so hard, the sound veering dangerously close to hysteria. But as quickly as it came, the laughter dissolves into tears once more, and I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted beyond words.
Adam and Rachel exchange a look I can’t interpret, some silent communication passing between them. Then they both move to sit beside me, Rachel on my left, Adam on my right. Rachel takes my hand in hers, her grip fierce and protective. After a moment’s hesitation, Adam takes my other hand, his touch gentle.
“It’s okay,” Rachel says softly. “Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out.”
I feel something brush against my legs, and then Luna is there, leaping gracefully into my lap. She settles herself with a proprietary air, kneading my thighs before curling into a ball. Her purr vibrates against me, surprisingly soothing.
“See?” Rachel says, nodding at the cat. “Luna knows what you need. Just sit here with us for a while. You don’t have to talk, don’t have to do anything.”
I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of Adam’s hand in mine, the firm pressure of Rachel’s grip, the comforting weight of Luna in my lap.
The tears slow, then stop. I breathe in, then out, finding a rhythm that doesn’t hurt. In this moment, held between two people who care about me, with a cat purring against my stomach, I feel something that might, just might, be the beginning of healing.
The room falls quiet as my tears finally stop. I feel hollowed out, empty but somehow lighter, as if the crying has washed away something toxic that I’ve been carrying for too long. Luna shifts in my lap, stretching before settling back down, her purr a steady vibration against my legs. Adam gently releases my hand and stands.
“I should go,” he says softly. “You need to rest.”
