23. Nova
Scars.
Reid has scars covering his back I’ve never noticed before.
We both fell asleep, but now, I lay awake in the early evening, listening to the sounds of frogs and crickets outside the window. It stopped raining an hour ago, but the breeze that blows through the room, coming off the sea, feels like heaven on my skin.
It’s cool after the rain. Calm. Everything is calm.
My finger traces the line of one of the scars, so light in color, but at one point, it would have been red and bloody, a mark in the perfect flesh over his muscles.
Who is this man? Where did he come from?
Perhaps we aren’t that different, at the end of the day.
Maybe we’re meant to be something akin to twin flames. So alike, but so different at the same time that the magnetic pull between us is impossible to ignore.
Part of me craves to be all-encompassed by him, while the other part fights back, pushing him away so he can’t get too close because every time he does, I’m forced to look down at the bare bones of who I am and decide if I can keep living the way I’ve grown accustomed to in the last four years.
Reid forces me to accept my own raw emotions and vulnerabilities in ways I’ve never known.
And that may be the most terrifying thing of all.
I know he’s leaving. I know this won’t be forever. I know he’ll move on, go to Alaska, and find everything he’s been searching for because I know, deep down, he’s lonely. He deserves someone to love him. Someone to show him there’s a better life for him. Someone who will make him open up.
I’m not that person. Not when I can’t even fix myself.
And . . . the truth is . . . little by little, I know he’ll forget about me once he leaves. He may think back to our summer with fondness, but it won’t have changed him like it has me.
He’s burrowed into my heart, my veins and now, I’m afraid like the moon and sun, we’ll be tethered for eternity. Just two beings bound by a connection, but millions of miles apart.
I’ll never see him again.
It’s almost poetic, isn’t it?
My hand slips over the scar, remembering what he’d said about bad memories. In my head, he was a broken and scared little boy, screaming for help when no one would listen. I wish I could go back in time and stop the scars, but I can’t. They’re there, even if they fade, and no amount of time or salve will erase them.
He stirs in his sleep, and I pause my perusing of his body until his breathing evens out again. He really is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Dark hair curling around his forehead, a firm set to his jaw. Those chocolate-colored eyes that make me feel like the world starts and ends in their depths . . . he’s a masterpiece, wrapped up in rugged jeans, a flannel shirt, and dirty boots.
My hand slips lower over his back and his fingers cover mine, bringing my hand around to his front and pressing my knuckles to his lips.
“What are you doing, little bird?” I don’t miss the bite in his voice, but instead of instigating it, I soften for him.
“Admiring your muscles.”
He presses his lips to my fingers again, only this time, he nips the pad of my thumb. I gasp, jerking against him from the sharp sting of pain he quickly erases with a lash of his tongue.
This Reid is not the scared boy in my head, but the broken man that grew from that turmoil. The man that makes my stomach feel like butterflies are beating at my insides to be let out. Like I’m the most divine thing to ever walk the planet.
Reid flips over, keeping my hand to him and watching me with a guarded expression. In the fading light outside the window, he almost looks like he’s made of stone. Carefully, I lean up, pressing my lips to his softly, so as not to spook him. He doesn’t kiss me back for a moment, instead breathing me in like he’s trying to steal the breath from my lungs.
“Nova,” he murmurs, voice quiet and dark. “What’s on your mind?”
You. Us. How this will end. What will happen when that twin flame is snuffed out and it’s just the two of us against separate sides of the world.
“I know you don’t like to speak about it,” I start, really working to keep my voice even, as unhostile as possible, so he can see I just genuinely want to know more about him. “But will you tell me something about you?”
I know so much about him, but so little at the same time. The thought that I’ll never get to see him again after September first sends a shot of panic like lightning down my spine. Like I need to memorize everything I can now, before he’s just a memory.
“Ask me a question. I’ll answer.”
He looks like he really doesn’t want to, but there’s something like grim resolve in his eyes. Like he’s kept these secrets for so long that now, he has to tell someone.
Perhaps, telling me will help him. Someone he’ll never see again, so he won’t have to worry about my reaction.
That’s how I felt after Jack died. I felt like if I told anyone what was really going on between us, everyone would judge me for who I was and not who I am.
“How did you get the scars on your back?”
It may be a tough question to start with, but seeing them made something dark and possessive curdle in my stomach I’m not accustomed to. Like I could find the person that did it and make them pay for what they did.
Even if I know I can’t.
“I was in foster care. One of the family’s was different about their punishments.”
Wetness burns behind my eyes, knowing what those scars mean, but I force them back. If I show him I care, he’ll run. He’ll get angry, storm out, like he normally does.
“What did they use?”
His jaw feathers, and his eyes harden.
“Switches. Tree branches they used to make us cut off ourselves, so they could whip us when we did shit they didn’t like.”
“That’s terrible.”
“That’s what some people do,” he murmurs.
“It’s not right.”
“I’m not saying it is, but I can’t change it. No use thinking about it, now.”
A tear slips down my cheek and I hope to God he doesn’t see it before it hits the pillow below me, but of course, he does, watching its path like it’s personally harming him.
“Don’t cry for me.”
“I’m not,” I grumble, forcefully wiping the tears out of my eyes. Sitting up in bed, I pull the covers tighter around myself, as if I can shut the tears up with the warmth from the blanket. “I’m crying for the boy you were when they happened,” I murmur. “I’m crying because people can be so cruel in this world. And I’m crying because children deserve better than what we give them half the time.”
I feel the weight shift on the bed and then the hardness of his chest pressed into my back.
“Some people shouldn’t be parents, Nova. Some people don’t deserve the punishments they were given. Others do.”
I jerk around to stare at him, a line forming between my brows. “Are you saying you deserved this?”
I wait for his answer, but I can see he’s already shut down. He won’t tell me anything else tonight. Not with that cold and guarded look in his eyes.
“Little bird, it’s late. We need to get back before they come looking for you.”
The conversation Reid and I had about his scars stays heavily on my mind after our night at the Whitaker house. During class, I find myself looking out toward the ocean where I know he and Manto are out, working on the water to prepare for his departure in a couple weeks.
It’s . . . strange. How connected to him I feel after knowing him for just a month. Maybe it’s just because it’s something new. Puppy love. Or maybe it really is something deeper.
Twin flames can be disastrous. They come quick and sometimes, they leave just as fast. Where you can have many soulmates in life, you can only have one twin flame. One chance.
At least, that’s what I read on the internet.
I’ll admit, I was pissed at Reid for throwing my phone over the cliff last night, but now that it’s not blowing up while I’m trying to teach? It’s opened a whole new door to freedom, I didn’t know existed. He told me he would get me a new one, but now that I can breathe, I’m starting to regret ever having one in the first place. This must be what it’s like to truly live in the moment. No one can reach me whenever they want to. I’m not at any one’s beck and call.
I’m just free. Free to experience everything right in front of me.
I don’t know whether to be angry with him or kiss him.
Honestly, everyone knows it would be the latter.
It’s a gloomy day. The sun isn’t shining outside and it’s cooler, warning of cold temperatures coming. We make the best of it, though, painting in the late afternoon while the kids chat animatedly over what they’ve done in the few days since they’ve all been together last.
I’ve got to give it to Judy. These kids seem to love coming in for art class. When she first dropped the idea on me, it seemed like such a lost cause, but now that I can see how much they’re opening up, doing things they wouldn’t normally do, I’m proud.
“Ms. Fischer?” Abigail calls quietly when I’m walking around, checking out everyone’s artwork.
“Yes, Abigail?” I stoop down beside her and she waves her little hand for me to come closer.
“I think Cody’s sad,” she whispers. I peek over her shoulder to Cody, who’s been extra quiet today. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak at all.
Unusual for him.
“Why do you think that?”
She frowns, dipping her paintbrush back in the shade of green she’s painting her mermaid’s tail. “I saw him crying earlier.”
“Well, do you think I should go see if he’s okay?”
She nods solemnly. “I think he needs a hug.”
“Okay, well don’t you worry about it. I’ll check on him.”
She smiles and resumes painting while I work up the courage to have a talk I’m definitely not qualified for.
I continue to make my way around the room, stopping when I come back by Cody who’s not even really painting. His head’s leaning on his hand and he doesn’t seem the least bit interested about what his friends are talking about.
“Hey, Cody. Can you help me grab something heavy from the supply closet? I can’t lift it, but I think you can.”
He doesn’t say anything, merely nodding and following me to the door.
Okay, Nova. Big girl pants. Be the teacher.
I refuse to listen to the voice that reminds me I’m just an art teacher, not a guidance counselor and lead him out into the hall.
“You feeling okay today?” I ask as I lead him to the next room over and pull out my keys.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, standing back while I unlock the door.
“You’re quiet. Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
He just shakes his head.
I wince. I am not doing a great job here.
“Okay. Just so you know, I took two whole psychology classes. I might be able to help you feel better.”
It’s not really a lie. I did take two classes, but I don’t remember anything from them. Nothing that will help an eight-year-old boy, anyway.
“My grandpa died last night.”
Well, shit.
Grief is definitely not my forte.
I open the door, but stop, turning back to him. There’s a tear leaking down his cheek and he angrily swipes it away. My heart breaks for him. Even more so when I don’t know what to say.
“I’m really sorry, Cody.”
He shrugs, sniffling.
“Were you close with your grandpa?”
He nods.
“You know,” I start, sucking in a deep breath and plopping down on a storage box in the closet. He steps in, leaning back against the door, but he won’t look at me. “I lost someone, too. Someone really close to me.”
He chances a peek at me, still frowning. “Your husband.”
Well, shit.
“I heard my mom and dad talking about it.”
I should have assumed. The Latterie’s are always in everybody’s business.
“Yeah, he was my husband,” I say softly, pushing my own feelings of grief and guilt down because, well, this kid needs me to. “It was really, really hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I thought I would never be happy again. I know you’ve probably heard this a lot, recently, but your grandpa is in a better place. Somewhere he won’t be sick or be in pain. He’s happy. I’m sure he would want you to be happy, too.”
Cody starts crying, sucking in a shallow breath and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“And I know it hurts. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe because you miss them so much. But I promise you, things get better. You won’t forget them, but you’ll be able to focus on how much fun you had when they were here. I bet your friends would make you laugh. Help you get through this.”
I’m not exactly the poster child for leaning on friends after loss. Of the people Jack and I were friends with, I still talk to a whopping zero of them. It became too hard, once he was gone, to go out with them. The one time I tried, I ended up chickening out because what recently widowed woman wants to hang out with a bunch of couples? Especially couples that were more Jack’s friends than mine. Not me. Eventually, they stopped trying to reach out and I all but disappeared from their lives.
“Mom said he had cancer and he was old.”
“It sounds to me like he lived a long and happy life. I mean, he got to spend time with you, right? You guys were close. I’m sure that time meant the world to him.”
“Do you think there’s a heaven?”
Oh, shit. Abort.
I’ve never had this talk with anyone and there are lines, as a teacher, I can’t cross. Still, the kid needs something and I can’t let him walk away still questioning whether his grandpa is really in a better place.
“I think no matter what you believe, there’s a place where everyone goes that’s full of happiness. Heaven is whatever you want it to be. What did your grandpa like to do for fun?”
“Fish.”
Should have seen that one coming.
“So, maybe he’s somewhere fishing. Every time you think about him not being here with you anymore, just picture him out on his boat, doing what he loves.”
“Grandpa’s fishing.”
I nod. “Yeah, I bet he’s searching for that blue lobster you and your dad caught.”
He smiles, chuckling quietly. “Gonna be hard to find him.”
“I know,” I agree. “Things that rare are hard to find, but once you do, you want to hold onto them forever. Kind of like the memories you have with your grandpa.” Standing from the box, I hold out my pinky to him. It’s stupid, but it’s what I’ve got. “Pinky promise you’ll let me know if you need to talk. I’m always open.”
He’s reluctant at first, but after a moment, he wraps his little pinky around mine with a smile. “Thanks, Ms. Fischer.”
“Of course. Now, why don’t you help me get this box of paints for our next class and then we can all go play basketball outside? It’s a cool day.”
“Okay.” Lifting the box, he eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. “This box isn’t that heavy, Ms. Fisher.”
I smirk behind his back as he leads me back to the classroom.
“Oh, maybe you’re just stronger than me, then.”