Chapter Forty-Six – Torin
Shirtless, I’m sitting on my bed, a cigarette between my fingers, a whiskey glass balancing on my thigh. It’s bitter and pointless, but I keep drinking anyway.
My mind is racing, and I have no idea what to fucking think. The letter she wrote sits on my nightstand like an ancient relic I’m afraid to touch. I have read it so many times, the folds have smoothed out, and the paper is thin in places. Every time I read it, it rips me apart all over again.
How can something come to an end so fast?
I replay everything, trying to see exactly when we lost her. Was it during the fight? Because of me? Dylan? I keep telling him it’s not his fault, and it’s not, but something must’ve spooked her, some invisible line we crossed without even realizing it.
Every sip of my whiskey comes with a new thought.
Is she okay?
Is she scared?
What if she needed us and we weren’t there?
I consider getting in the truck and ripping through Ivywood, block by block, street by street. I’d track her down, but then what? My mind goes haywire. I would grab her, take her home, and make her listen. Adult-nap her, let’s just say.
Fuck, what am I thinking?
Whatever happened, wherever she is, I just hope she is safe.
That’s the reality of it. That’s the part that hurts the most — this helpless, itching urge to protect someone who isn’t here.
I am working overtime to remain strong because I understand what I will become when I fall apart.
Anger will start to creep in, and then I will go out and do something I can’t undo.
I tried to tell Dylan not to text or call her.
I don’t even know if he’s listening. For most of the evening, he’s been in his room, silent, but I can hear him pacing back and forth.
The thing is, that’s what scares me the most. I can deal with him being loud, but quiet, it’s like I’m standing beside a storm before it hits.
The radio stops me from spiraling as it shifts from commercials to a song. It’s enough to fill the silence. I stare out the window, the moon up there like it has all the answers I don’t. I wonder if she’s looking at it too. I wish I could simply lasso it close enough to whisper to it.
Tell her I love her.
Tell her we’re not done yet.
Tell her she’s wrong about everything she thinks she is.
Fuck, if only.
Suddenly, my bedroom door catches my attention as it creaks open. Dylan is standing there in nothing but boxers. “Can I come in?” His voice is rough, stripped raw.
I nod once, and he steps in, the moon the only source of light.
It shines on his face, revealing it well now.
His eyes are red, like he has been crying for hours, but now, they’re dry, empty.
He just stands there, looking as if he doesn’t know where to go, then lowers himself to the edge of the bed.
“Uh, you don’t mind if I stay with you tonight . . . do you?” he asks quietly.
In this moment, he looks vulnerable in a way I have never seen before. Again, I nod. Of course, I don’t mind.
He eases down beside me, finds his spot, goes still.
His eyes land on the ceiling and stay there.
I take a final drag, feeling the smoke sear its way down to my lungs, before flicking the butt out the window.
Finishing off my whiskey in a single shot, I place the glass on the bedside table with a clink.
Only the crickets can be heard outside and the radio in the background.
After a moment, I lower myself, shifting onto my side to face Dylan. He pauses for just a second then moves closer to me until there’s no distance between us. His breathing is shallow, as if he’s afraid to take up too much space. “She’s really gone . . .”
“Don’t say that. We don’t know yet, Dylan.”
“I keep replaying everything, trying to find the exact moment I fucked it up.”
“You didn’t,” I say immediately. “What happened is not your fault. Stop blaming yourself.”
“You know what hurts the most?” he says quietly. “We were so close, and I feel like I still have a thousand things I never got to say to her. Y’know, things I should’ve said sooner, louder. Things that might’ve made her stay.”
“There’s nothing we could have done differently.”
Silence lingers again, as thick as ever. Dylan starts rubbing his face, his hands moving slowly. A sniffle comes from his nose. “I feel like I’ve failed her.”
“Hey, no, you haven’t. We’re not giving up on her . . . not ever,” I state, grabbing the back of his neck, bringing our foreheads to meet. He doesn’t fight, doesn’t pause. He just melts into me.
“She always knew how to calm us down,” he replies. “Like she brought out the best versions of us.”
“Yeah. She did.”
His arm drifts around my waist, and I let him borrow whatever steadiness I have left. We’re clinging to each other like two lost giants, chest to chest, and I can feel his heart thudding.
I don’t know how it happens, but suddenly, my head dips down and his tilts up, and our mouths meet in the dark.
It’s a hungry, desperate search for sensation and connection.
His tongue pushes past my lips, and a rumbling groan vibrates from his chest to mine.
I glide my hands across the ridges of his abs, his skin burning hot.
He lets out a sound, a gasp against my lips, as his fingers sink into my back, pulling me hard against him.
I can feel his erection pressing against me through the thin cotton of my boxers.
We start to grind against each other in a clumsy, frantic dry hump, our kisses growing messier, wetter, more intense.
When I close my eyes, I can’t help but imagine Fawn, which makes me break away suddenly from the kiss.
My eyes shoot open, and I’m panting; his green eyes shine glassy in the moonlight.
“It feels so wrong without Fawn,” I gasp. “But I need to feel something. Anything. Fuck! I pictured her when I was kissing you . . .”
“Same,” he says, out of breath.
We fall back into that familiar, desperate embrace. His arm is clamped around me, our pounding hearts beating together in a frantic, irregular rhythm.
“We loved her together. We lost her together,” I whisper. “And we’re gonna get her back, Dylan . . . together.”
His shoulders finally sag, the fight draining out of him. “I’m scared,” he admits.
“Me too . . .”
I’ve never admitted to being scared — hell, not even in the Army.
But here we are, in the darkness, two wrecks glued to each other by the girl who should be in the middle of us right now.
I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know where she is.
All I know is that the space she left behind feels too big for this house, for this town, for my fucking ribcage.
One last time, I stare up at the moon with my chest constricted by this constant hope she’s looking at it too — that somehow, across this distance and silence, it’s still something we’re sharing.