Chapter 11 #2
He lifts a single brow as he takes a bite. The crisp crunch echoes through the quiet kitchen. I lift my own sandwich, and the moment the buttery toast hits my tongue, a sound escapes me. An honest to God moan.
I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed. My shoulders slump, eyes flutter closed. “Oh my God,” I breathe. This is indecently good.
When I open my eyes, I catch him staring. His cheeks and ears are flushed the rosiest shade of pink. I swipe a crumb from the corner of my mouth with my tongue, and his gaze darts away.
“I’d apologize,” I say, “but this is so good. Best grilled cheese I’ve ever had. You’ve ruined me for all other grilled cheeses.”
He swallows, throat bobbing. “I’d like to ruin just about everything else for you, too.” He mumbles.
The line should make me roll my eyes, make some off-handed comment about boundaries. It doesn’t. Instead, a smile tugs at my mouth because for the first time in a long time, it registers less as a joke, more like the truth neither of us has figured out how to grab hold of yet.
He clears his throat, breaking the spell we're under before turning away.
His back flexes as he reaches up into the cabinet.
Broad shoulders, taut muscles, drool pooling in my mouth…
But then my eyes catch on what's in the cabinets.
Shelves full of electrolyte packets. The brand I drink. The same ones are stocked at my house.
“Do you want some?” He asks, grabbing two waters from the fridge. “I bought them after the other day, just in case you were closer to my house than yours. Or is regular water okay? I can’t drink plain water, so I have to at least put lemon in it.”
His back is still to me, and I’m so thankful that it is because a tear rolls down my cheek. The tenderness of the moment hits harder than anything he’s said since I’ve been back.
It’s not a grand gesture, not a declaration, just… care. I don’t know a single person who would order something just because they knew I liked it. No one ever thinks of me that way. But he does. He always does.
“Hey.” His voice softens. “What’s wrong?” I blink, not having realized he turned around, let alone that he’s moved to my side. His arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest, and I break.
Everything I’ve tried so hard to smother, every feeling of doubt and anger I’ve tried to bury. Every feeling toward him that truly never went away, the dreams, the wants, they all come rushing to the surface.
Years of suppressed emotions fall from me in the kitchen of the only man I’ve ever felt comfortable enough around to just be. All I’ve done in weeks is be a bitch to him, yet here he is, holding me like I’m worthy of his love. Like I’m worth protecting, like I mean something, broken pieces and all.
When I finally run out of tears, he hands me a napkin, but doesn’t release me from his grip.
“Why aren’t you telling me to stop crying?” I ask, wiping below my eyes.
He pulls out the barstool next to mine and looks at me.
His hand scoops up mine, lacing our fingers together like he would every time we had a hard conversation as kids, an emotional anchor he called it.
Back then, it was just something we did.
Now, it hits deeper, like muscle memory of a time when we were safe to feel.
“Why would I ever tell you to stop crying?” His gaze settles over me, patient and unmoving, like he’s willing to carry all the things that threaten to pull me under.
I sniffle, bringing the napkin to my nose. “Because it makes me weak. Having feelings and emotions is a weakness. I can’t afford weaknesses.”
He squeezes our intertwined fingers before rubbing the spot between my thumb and pointer finger with his.
“Who told you that?” He searches my face, then tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers linger as they slowly run down my cheek.
“They’re wrong. Hiding your emotions is cowardice. The easy way out.”
I take a deep breath that makes my chest puff up in defiance, ready and willing to argue. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch, a hint of amusement that effectively disarms me in half a second.
“My mom could have talked to anyone at any time about the grief and guilt she felt over living when my dad didn’t. But instead, she chose to live life in silence, ignoring and neglecting her own son. It was the easier route.”
He looks up at me, eyes full of unshed tears, he blinks once, and they use his face like a waterslide. “Talking about the things that tear you up inside brings light to the demons who can only live in the dark. It’s freeing, and if that makes us weak? Then so be it.”
It’s only now that I realize how strong he’s had to be his whole life.
How he looked after not only himself, but also his mom, who should have been there for him.
How he kept picking himself up and brushing off the hurt time and time again.
He asked for help and never got it. And seeing that now, all these years later, it hits me.
He’s damaged, too. Just in a different way. “How did you forgive her?” I whisper.
His tongue peeks out of his mouth as he catches a few stray tears. “I chose myself.”
He shifts on the barstool, angling himself until he can lean forward on his knees, his legs bracketing my own as our joined hands hang weightlessly in the middle.
“For years, I tried to do everything I could that I knew she liked. Sang the songs she’d sing with my dad, made the foods she loved, although they were usually awful because I was seven and could barely boil water.
” He stares down at the floor for a beat, squeezing my hands as he lifts his head.
“The only time she’d semi-play with me was when we’d play spa, and I was her attendant ‘Ricardo’,” he lets out a chuckle. “Oddly enough, Wilder and I do green tea masks the first night we’re gone for every away game. It’s our tradition now.”
I laugh at the thought, my eyes not able to break the hold he has on me.
He takes a deep breath. “I started therapy. He’s helped me see that the same way I struggle with grief, she is too.
The only difference is that I’ve worked to build a support system, and she hasn’t.
She never tried. So while to me, it felt personal, it was never about me.
She was just too selfish to voice it, to let me off the hook of the guilt and shame that came with it. ”
He pulls out two electrolyte packets from his pocket, and I point to the raspberry one. He unscrews the lid, taking a large gulp before pouring the mix in, shaking it, and handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I say as I take it and chug half of it in one go.
He turns back to his food, and we eat the rest in comfortable silence.
He clears our plates when he’s done, and when we walk outside, I start to say goodbye.
“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you walk back alone when it’s dark.
” My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I clock the little flare in his eyes mixed with the unconscious set of his shoulders.
The overprotective instinct to be the wall between me and the world hits me the same way it always has, tugging up a million childhood arguments just like this one.
A laugh tickles against my throat, and I feel my mouth start to curve. I grab his hand this time, letting him know I see him, and maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to appreciate his protectiveness the way I always should have.
His hand tightens around mine as the trees rustle in the distance, and he scans the area the entire walk back to my house. Maybe this is what Nana meant by fighting together.
Stepping up on the bottom step, I lean forward, letting my head land on his shoulder as I wrap my arms around his broad back. “Thank you for dinner. Can we do it again tomorrow?”
He chuckles. “I’m out of town for a couple of days, we play the Titans.” He gives me a shy smile. “I’ll be back on Friday morning.”
“Titans, huh?” I pretend to know what I’m talking about, but he doesn’t fall for it.
“You have no idea who they are, do you?”
I shake my head. “Never seen a hockey game in my life. Had I known you played, I would have paid better attention.”
He jerks back, blinking rapidly before he slaps a hand over his heart.
“Scarlett Marie Arias!” The back of his hand flies to his head, and my heart trips over itself at the way he says my name.
“What an absolute travesty. “ I know what I’m getting you for Christmas!” he sings.
“You know, Hannah and Abby stay here when we travel. They watch the game at Hannah’s. I’m sure they’d love to have you.”
I laugh at his attempt to get me to hang out with his friends. “I don’t know that they’d be a fan of that with how I ran out of your house like my ass was on fire.”
“You’re a lot more like the two of them than you know.” He smiles. “Promise, they’d love to have you.”
He leans in, kissing my cheek before he steps back down to the ground. “Goodnight, Lettie Girl.” He leans against the railing, waiting for me to go inside and lock the door.
A surprisingly good night it was.