Chapter 12
AVAH
The Scripture that was preached on today is stuck in my mind. After getting coffee started, I take my Bible out and head to the couch to reread the verse from Colossians.
“Bearing graciously with one another, and willingly forgiving each other if one has a cause for complaint against another; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so should you forgive.”
The words struck true this morning. I thought I’d go to church for answers on where to go from here. The last thing I expected was to be reminded that I should forgive…just like God has forgiven me for the choices I made. Or at least I hope He has.
Holding on to the unforgiveness toward Axel is just easier. Even though it hardens my heart, even if it’s festering with pain, resentment, brokenness—it’s easier than forgiving.
What does it say about me that I can’t manage an ounce of forgiveness toward the man even after a year has gone by? After everything we’ve been through, it should be easy to forgive him, because I know him. I’ve known him forever.
But because of that, the pain of his betrayal runs deeper than I can even put into words.
Forgive Axel.
Closing my eyes, I breathe out, hoping some of the hurt will just leave my body.
“Father God, only You can bring true healing,” I whisper, my heart reaching toward Heaven. “Help me heal from these wounds, please. You want us to have grace with others…but how? How did You give grace when others didn’t deserve it?”
Sitting on the couch, I wait for an answer, for peace, for anything. I run my fingers over the blanket and pillow that is now neatly folded. Declan must’ve at least made his makeshift bed before leaving this morning.
Have grace with Declan.
The words echo, louder than I want them too. Grace for Declan, forgiveness for Axel. My gaze shifts over the boxes standing everywhere—some half-packed, others taped and ready to go.
He knows I’m moving now. He knows the secret I’ve been keeping from my brother.
In a little more than a week, I’ll have to move. I’m still stuck on exactly what I’m going to do. Realistically, I know I’ll have to move in with EJ. That is the only option if I’m serious about staying another four weeks to try and salvage this situation.
Although right now, that’s not the option I want to take.
Last night he made it clear that he felt sorry for me.
Yes, he helped me when I had nowhere else to go, and for that I’ll always be grateful.
The part I can’t stand is that he somehow ended up thinking of me as someone who can’t help herself, someone who’s entirely incapable of handling her life.
Have grace with EJ.
But not moving in with him would be like giving up. I’d have to accept that New York didn’t work out and I have to go back to Sweden, then I might as well get everything organized and head back in two weeks.
The mere thought of that has my throat tightening.
Just the thought of seeing Axel again has my stomach churning, especially considering the way I saw him last.
With someone else. In a very less than appropriate position.
Have grace with yourself, Avah.
My head is spinning, tears are burning my eyes, and I’m going back and forth between forgiveness, grace and the reasons I have to hold onto my unforgiveness.
A knock on the door rips me from my spiral and I swallow the tears that are threatening to spill. Sighing, I consider ignoring whoever is on the other side of the door. It’s probably EJ coming to apologize for last night, or coming to get his phone.
And then he’ll see the boxes I tried to hide from him yesterday.
But since Declan knows, I might as well face the music. I’m sure he’ll tell EJ at some point.
Setting down my Bible on the coffee table, I get up to open the door, fully resolved to fight this out with my brother.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my eyes widening in surprise.
Declan Murphy is standing in front of me. My gaze travels over his now freshly showered frame dressed in sweats and a Rangers hoodie, his dark hair is still damp. The butterfly band-aid above his eye is the only reminder that I dragged him off the floor of a bar last night.
“Do you always greet visitors with such a friendly face, or am I just special?” he asks, giving me his signature smile, dimple and all. “I owe you a car, remember? I borrowed your keys this morning and had it cleaned. It smells a lot nicer now, I promise.”
“You stole my car?” I ask, a bit annoyed that I didn’t notice it wasn’t even there when I got back, and more annoyed that he felt he could take it without asking me.
“The words you’re looking for are thank you,” he says easily, brushing past me. The scent of a fresh shower and cologne follows him. I won’t lie, it’s better than the bourbon and barfloor he was wearing last night.
He heads straight for my couch and plants himself there. I’m still trying to adjust to the visual of having Declan Murphy manspreading on my couch, the frown between my eyes only growing deeper with each passing second, when he gestures to the boxes in the living room.
“Why’s everything packed up,” he asks. “Or did you tell me last night?”
“What are you doing?” I ask, keeping the door open that it might remind him that this is not his apartment.
“I told you I brought back your car,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing.
“Yes…but what are you doing on my couch?” I ask, trying to figure out why he’s on my couch for the second time in the span of twenty-four hours.
He leans back, smug. “Sitting. Should I lay down instead?” he asks, kicking his feet up and resting his hands behind his head. He grins, his dimple making an appearance again.
“Where are my keys?” I ask, ignoring the strange flutter in my stomach his smile summons.
He pulls them out of his pocket and starts twirling them around his finger, taunting me.
“So you’re moving?” he asks. “Where? This is a really great place. It even has a fireplace, that’s a hard find. Why leave?”
This morning I managed to avoid him—rather successfully—and I didn’t think he’d be back. Maybe ever. And somehow he’s here again. Lounging in my living room while taking in every part of my personal living space.
“It’s not really any of your business.” I step closer to him, holding out my hand while the other rests firmly on my hip. “Now give me my keys.”
He continues to twirl my keys around his finger, the smile on his face only deepening as he stares me down with his dark brown eyes. There's a flash of amusement in them…he’s enjoying this.
“You’re moving,” he says, tilting his head a little like he’s assessing me.
“And if it were merely down the street, you would’ve told people about it.
EJ would’ve known, even Hannah. I’m sure you would’ve mentioned it at dinner since our little group loves talking about anything and everything.
Lindgren would be here carrying boxes…he can’t help himself, it’s the Minnesota in him. Which means you didn’t tell them.”
I grind my teeth. “Nothing gets by you, does it.” Reaching out, I try to grab the keys, but he rips it out of reach.
“Now Snowflake, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to grab things from other people?” he asks, teasing. “It’s bad manners.”
I exhale sharply, stepping back. His tone is playful, but there’s an edge beneath it, like he would really like an answer to his question.
“I’m not playing, Declan.”
He twirls the keys within my grasp and everything inside of me wants to rip it from his finger and win this little game.
“So what?” he presses. “You look pretty much packed up. Were you going to disappear overnight? Without even saying goodbye?”
“How far do you think I’d get without my car?” I ask, taking a small step forward, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Plus, why would you want me to say goodbye anyway?”
Hoping my question throws him off, I try to reach for the keys again, this time reaching further. I lose my balance and he reaches for me, catching me before I can hit the floor.
His grip is steady, strong, his face suddenly close to mine. This close I have the perfect view of those golden flecks, bits of sparks in the brown.
“Who else will spar with me, Snowflake?” he asks, amusement glinting in his eyes.
My pulse betrays me. With him being this close I grab the keys from him, before straightening away from him.
With my fingers clutched around my keys, it’s hard not to gloat a bit.
I won. But it doesn’t feel like it when the glint in his eyes dims. Something heavier clearly settles over him as he braces his forearms on his knees.
His voice is quieter when it comes again, this time stripped from the edge it held a few minutes ago.
“Listen,” he says, his jaw working before he finds the words. “I wanted to thank you for last night.”
The seriousness in his tone makes me falter. I turn, needing the distance between us. Setting my keys back in their place, I put the kitchen counter between us.
“It was nothing,” I say, trying to find my bearings again.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. His eyes are still cast down, his voice heavy with regret.
“It wasn’t nothing.” He pauses running a hand over his face.
“I was in a very bad spot and I need you to know that I appreciate what you did for me. It could’ve gotten so much uglier if you hadn’t showed up, and I’m already in a tough spot as it is. So you really saved me back there.”
His sincerity tugs at my heart. He’s not supposed to be this real, this unguarded…not with me anyway. But the fact that he is, flips everything I thought I knew about him upside down.
Remembering the state he was in has my eyes flicking up to the spot above his eye, where he’s still sporting the small bandage.
“I saw the video on your suspension,” I say, thinking about how that hit has been on my social media feed on repeat. “It can't be fun having to watch that over and over again.”