Page 76 of Seven Minutes
When he was rinsing the last glass, I broke the tension. “He didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
Adrian’s jaw flexed. “He’s not wrong.”
“He’s not right, either.”
That earned me a glance. A tired one, but it landed.
I stepped closer, close enough that our arms brushed when I took the towel from him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For letting him make me doubt myself.”
I swallowed hard. “You didn’t. You were there. You’vealwaysbeen there.”
Something in him softened then. The distance of dinner melted away, replaced by the familiar warmth that had lived between us long before the crash.
He reached up, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “You should rest.”
“Only if you do, too.”
Later, when we settled into bed, I felt his hand find mine under the covers. A simple, wordless gesture that spoke volumes.
The day had taken its shots, but we were still standing. Still side by side.
Part Six
Second Chances
Chapter 30
Fault Lines
ADRIAN
Afew days later, the rhythm we’d found dissolved again.
Eli was restless and short-tempered. He’d tried reading, then tossed the book aside. Turned on the TV and flipped through channels so fast that the sound barely caught up. Finally, he stabbed the power button and dropped the remote with a thud.
I kept to the kitchen, pretending to scroll through my phone. Pretending not to notice the edge in his movements. The cabinet door slammed, or the sigh when he realized it came out louder than he meant it to.
He was exhausted; I could see that. But it was more than fatigue. It was a kind of agitation that came from the inside out, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
If I asked, he’d snap. He always did when he didn’t have the words for what he was feeling. So I tiptoed around him instead—quiet, careful, and cowardly.
Whenhe finally disappeared into the bathroom, I took it as my cue to retreat. I changed into a t-shirt, crawled into bed, and turned on the lamp. I tried to read, but the words refused to stick.
The sounds from the bathroom were a steady percussion: the medicine cabinet door, the faucet, the toothbrush cup clinking against porcelain. A drawer slid open, shut, open again.
I rubbed my eyes. The rhythm of his movements wasn’t careless; it was deliberate. Controlled. He was daring me to react.
By the time he came to bed, I’d already turned down the sheets on his side. Eli didn’t look at me. Just sat down, picked up a magazine, and started flipping pages with the subtlety of a wind tunnel.
I let it go for a while, counting the seconds between turns. Seven. Ten. Then two rapid-fire.
I sighed and reached over to switch off the lamp. The light clicked out, and my side of the room went dark.
