Page 37 of Collins
All the things that have been buried, all the questions I never got answers to, all the truths I’m not sure I want to hear. They linger overhead, threatening to slice through every fragile feeling her return has stirred back to life.
My jaw tightens as I take a sharp turn, the back end fishtailing just enough to make her shift. Her fingers clutch my shirt for a split second.
It shouldn’t mean anything.
But it means everything.
My chest tightens, something raw and jagged dragging itself up from the place I’ve been shoving it down for years. She still fits here. Like no time has passed. Like she didn’t leave me standing in the wreckage of what we were.
Like she didn’t break me.
I slow the four wheeler as we reach the clearing, our clearing. The one we used to swear belonged to us, like the rest of the world couldn’t touch us here.
I kill the engine.
The sudden quiet is deafening.
For a second, neither of us moves. The only sound is the ticking of the cooling motor, rustling of leaves in the wind and the uneven rhythm of my breathing.
Then her hands fall away, a harrowing sensation in their wake.
I stare straight ahead, gripping the handlebars tighter than I need to, the only thing keeping me anchored.
“Why the hell did you leave?” The words come out rough, scraped raw from somewhere deep.
I don’t look at her. I can’t.
Because if I see her face, see even a flicker of the girl I used to know, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold my composure anymore.
Behind me, she inhales. It’s sharp and unsteady.
Like she’s been holding it in just as long as I have.
And just like that, I know?—
Whatever she has to say is going to ruin me all over again and…it’s not the right time.
“Forget it. Let’s get back.”
We need to get through the funeral,shehas to get through the funeral.
“Collins.” Her voice, soft yet heavy with hurt, pierces through me. I stand up, turning myself around on the seat and our knees touch. It’s all I can do not to reach for her. She can sense my turmoil and reaches both of her hands toward me, landing on each of my shoulders. Inhaling deep, she looks right into my eyes and brings each other thumbs to graze my cheeks. The contact, this intimate moment…it stops time, and I’m not sure I’m even breathing when she speaks again.
“My heart can only take so much before it gives out. It can’t hold your truth, your answers, and the loss of her. The grief. Not all at the same time.”
I cover her hands with my own, never breaking contact. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Am I, though? Sorry? I want fucking answers.
“Look, this is hard for me, okay? It’s hard balancing my need for knowing with the respect you deserve because of what you’re going through.” It comes out strained, maybe even rougher than I intended.
But she doesn’t look offended.
She actually gives me a slight smile and my heart, the one that’s been through the wringer already, sustains one more bruise.
CHAPTER 21
johnnie
