Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
kane
If I Ever Saw Heaven – Roan Ash
“Fuck!” I yell as I burst through the kitchen back room and slide down the wall that houses our supply lists before I hang my head in my hands.
I fucked up.
I know I fucked up. I just couldn’t see clearly—all I saw was red. My vision tunneled as his hands touched her as if he had some right to, as if he had some claim to be touching my girl.
In that moment, all I could think was that I had to get his hands off her so I could breathe again, until I looked down and saw the look on her face—she was pissed.
So I reacted the way any rational man would and followed her.
I didn’t mean to invade her space, but I can’t go on much longer without talking.
This permanent ache has filled my chest these past weeks, growing with all the small moments we’ve had together—the pranks, my parents’ party, the picture I stole and taped to my bathroom mirror, where it taunts me every morning, reminding me exactly what I’m fighting for every day.
I gave her space for weeks. I kept giving her space, but that’s no longer going to work for me. So I followed her, and I was going to demand she finally talk to me—to clear the air after my parents’ house, and the kisses we shared in between, and then her being on that goddamn date.
We were at a crossroads, and I saw her standing there, a fucking goddess burning me with her gaze, so I snapped.
I touched her, and my hands still feel the ghost of her skin under them.
It felt like fucking heaven. The moans she made, the fiery look in her eye, the way pushing into her felt like coming home after years away.
It had always been explosive when we were together.
Sometimes our sex life took a back seat to life and circumstances, but that never dulled how fucking perfect we were together.
The second I was inside her, every thought vanished, and she consumed me from the inside out.
I could live inside her and never tire of the way she feels.
Fuck, I feel myself hardening and the shame of the night eats at me all over again.
I’m still lost in my haze when the back door I just stormed through bursts open and shoes appear in my sight. A pair of shoes I could recognize anywhere, with the black heart on the toe, fill my vision. I brace myself for what he’s about to say.
“You can’t be back here,” I mutter dejectedly to the shoes, hoping I see them walk right back out. I’m in no mood to explain.
“You really got yourself into it, didn’t you?”
I pick my head up and look at Marcus. “Over four years ago, or just now?”
“Well, I would say about three months ago when you let that girl walk out of the house, then refused to tell anyone what happened, but sure, I’ll let you live in your delusions for a couple more seconds and say now,” he quips while sitting on the floor next to me.
I rest my forearms on my knees and let my head fall back onto the wall, staring at the square tile ceiling.
“I just saw some other guy with my girl, and I lost it,” I sigh, hoping that sums up every emotion that has flitted through my body since.
“Okay, so you let your anger talk for you, and she’s not your girl.
If I remember correctly.” Marcus mirrors my stance and turns his head toward me.
I quickly look at him with murder in my eyes, jaw clenched as I try not to hit my best friend as he chuckles and continues, “All right, so if she’s your girl… what have you been waiting for?”
“Her. She wanted space.” I falter, the anger fading.
“Fuck that, Kane. I know you’re not that dumb.
I’ve never been in a relationship—not for lack of trying.
But even I know when a woman asks for space you better get as close to them as possible and find out what’s wrong.
Jesus, don’t make me call my mother and have her explain this to you.
I remember I was twelve and had just stumbled inside from the yard, a warm spring day and finally headed to grab my afternoon Capri-Sun.
I had just reached in the fridge when I heard a sniffle—my sister had run upstairs from the front door while yelling down at my mom about needing space.
So she sat me down, and she said ‘Marcus, my son, my favorite child—’”
“Has anyone told you to get to the point sooner?” I interject, the urge to punch my best friend strong.
“As I was saying, my mom told me that a woman never truly wants space. She said when a woman says she wants space, it’s a way to tell us that we need to fix it.
So quit being a fucking dumbass and make her talk to you.
It’s been almost three months since the breakup, and you two are still dancing around each other like children.
You’re being pathetic right now,” Marcus huffs, raising his brow at me.
My anger rises, not at him but at myself.
I’ve let these months pass me by, almost letting her slip through my fingers forever.
I listen to the tinkering in the kitchen—the cooks preparing the last of the dishes before it becomes alcohol only for the night, the dishwasher finishing its last cycle—and stare at the rings on my finger, methodically twisting my favorite one as I attempt to gather my scattered thoughts.
I mumble sarcastically, “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Okay, I will. You’re being a little bitch.
You let the love of your life go, for what?
A miscommunication? A fight you two couldn’t control?
I wouldn’t know because neither of you two idiots have spoken much about it.
Maybe we’re bad friends and didn’t push as much as we should have, but this is enough.
Man up, figure your shit out, and get your girl back.
Before it’s too late and you’re actually stuck watching her date other guys—hell, maybe even marry one. ”
His words hit me like a final blow to the chest.
I picture what it would be like someday—having to watch Avery with someone else, holding their hand in the parking lot and buckling her into their car drunk, waking up on lazy Sundays and staying in bed together the whole day instead of getting up.
The haze of the past few weeks starts to clear from my mind.
I’ve been walking around these past months in a fog, letting my anxiety and baggage cloud up my feelings.
I’ve never stopped loving her. I don’t think I could, even if my heart was ripped out of my chest. My soul is hers.
It has been since she smiled at me—hook, line and sinker.
I think it has been hers longer than it was ever my own.
The girl who found this broken boy and gave him purpose, a home for the first time in his life.
I’ve never given much thought to what comes next—heaven or hell.
If some divine god judges us based on the lives we’ve lived and determines where we go next.
But I do know I’ll go wherever she goes—gods be damned.
In this life and whatever comes next, she’s it for me.
I’d strike whatever deal, make any bargain to go with her.
I’ve let her think she’s less than that, and today is the last day she doesn’t know my world begins and ends with her.
I’ve never put much faith in divinity, but I would give my life to worship the ground she walked on if she gave me another chance to get this right.
I stand quickly, wiping my hands on my jeans, my palms sweating as the anxiety spirals during this conversation. Marcus follows suit, and I turn to him, trying to gather all the thoughts jumping out to me at once.
“Look, there’s a lot I haven’t told you guys, even Avery. But I think I owe it to her to tell her first. I would really like to come talk to you later on,” I say, reaching back to the table where we keep our possessions during shifts for my keys. The cold metal hitting my palm fuels me further.
Marcus slaps my shoulder and grips it, looking right at me, acknowledging that a light bulb has finally gone off in my head.
“We all know you have been going through something, even before this. We got your back. Go get your girl. We will talk later.” He stares into my eyes, imploring me to hear him. I nod and hold eye contact for a moment before I break off, heading to the door.
My steps pick up the closer I get to my truck. I throw the door open and jump inside. The sleek black interior is swallowed up by the night, with soft music filling the cab after I finally got it fixed last night.
The sky pounds with relentless rain, thick sheets blocking my windshield.
I drive slower than I want to through the streets between Avery and me.
I let my mind try to focus on what I need to say to her, what I need her to hear.
The outside blurs in time with my thoughts, making the drive feel quicker than it is.
When I finally pull up to her curb, I turn the car off and sit back to take a few breaths.
I tell the panic to subside and do my breathing technique—I look around for five things I can see, remind myself of four things I can smell, let myself feel three things I can touch, and ground myself in the moment.
I steel my spine as I jump out of the car, quickly slam the door behind me, and rush to the house. The floodgates opened up earlier, and it seems someone upstairs is hell-bent on punishing me for these last few months.
I welcome the rain, the bite of the cold against my cheeks, as I stare at her front door.
The rain soaks through my clothes, chilling me to the bone when I bang on her door.
The strands of my hair are already soaked and dripping down my face as I wait for her to answer.
Seconds tick by and I feel my confidence weaken.
What if she no longer wants anything to do with me? What if I really fucked it all up by crossing the line tonight?
I pound on the door a second time, my rings clanking against the wood. Just as I’m about to give up and head back to my truck to regroup, the door opens.
A small crack in the door, and there she is—hair wet from the rain or shower, my old high school shirt and those tiny fucking shorts on her.
Her face is in shock, either because I’m standing here, because of the state I’m in, or because I’m soaked and dripping on her porch late at night.
Her arms cross over her chest as I watch her build up her defenses like she tried to do tonight in the bathroom.
I push my hair back and out of my face so I can see her past the rain. Her beauty pins me to the gray night.