Chapter 46
Laurie
I woke up the next morning, and something was different.
I opened my eyes and felt lighter than I had in years. At first, I lay still and tried to remember what I’d lost. But whatever shards of memory I’d handed over to River were gone, vanished like they never happened—and they’d left no gaps behind.
I’d been skeptical of River’s proposal, hesitant—and I still was to some degree—but there was no denying that something was different.
Something had changed.
With a yawn that went on forever, I stretched out under the blanket, then hauled myself upright. I waited for the heaviness in my chest to pull me back down again, to tempt me into thunking down on the mattress, burrowing under the covers, and staying that way for the rest of the day.
That didn’t happen.
The heaviness was still there, I could feel it. But I made it out of bed with no trouble.
That in itself was a surefire sign that whatever the hell River had done in my head had worked. Or could work, if we kept at it. If I let her in. If I could let go of every terrible memory that plagued me.
She had done the impossible. She’d taken the shards I handed her and dissolved them. Grateful wasn’t a big enough word. But still, I was nervous. Hesitation hovered underneath the relief.
Because there were still plenty of horrors left in the vault, along with the bittersweet memories I didn’t know what to do with.
Those memories, the shards that carried just as much joy as they did sorrow, like two sides of a coin—those memories hurt the most. Those memories, I wasn’t sure I could ever give up.
But River had asked me for a chance. She had asked me to trust her.
I could at least try.
A faint clatter echoed down the hall and caught my attention. Pans, plates, and River whistling off-key. Something that—I had come to learn in my time living with her—was standard practice.
Along with her inharmonious whistling, a rich scent that smelled a lot like another over-the-top breakfast drifted my way. So I padded out of the bedroom barefoot, hair a stock standard disaster, following that delicious aroma to the kitchen.
River stood at the stove in silky red pajama bottoms and a strategically revealing bralette, and I couldn’t help but stare. She was fully absorbed with her cooking endeavor, flipping French toast triangles with the flourish of an old school magician.
She glanced up when I cleared my throat, dimples deepening as she grinned my way. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” The word came out unexpectedly chipper and I felt my lips curling into the faintest of smiles—a first for me, at least this early in the day. I slid onto a stool and watched her work. “You’re cooking enough for a platoon again.”
“I can’t help it.” She piled toast on a platter, then glanced back at me with a wary glint in her eye. “How are you feeling?”
“I haven’t gone brain-dead overnight if that’s what you’re worried about.” I leaned an elbow on the table and pursed my lips, poking at the stack of steaming toast.
“Hey, I technically did psychological brain surgery on you yesterday.” River waved a spatula over her shoulder at me. “So forgive me for being a little concerned.”
“Fair enough.” I tugged a piece of toast free from the pile and slathered it in syrup. “I actually feel… good. Almost, I don’t know—floaty. Does that make sense?”
“That makes perfect sense,” River said, flipping the last triangle of French toast and sliding the pan onto a trivet. She joined me at the island, propping her chin on one hand. “Floaty is a technical term in the empath’s handbook. Right after ‘post-extraction euphoria.’”
“Oh, good—glad I’m textbook.” I rolled my eyes and shoveled a syrup-drowned bite into my mouth. “So what’s the next step?”
River’s brows arched. “If you’re open to it, we can tackle another shard or two today.”
I thought it over, chewing my toast with my cheek propped up on one fist.
The extraction yesterday had left both of us exhausted.
After River had pulled my memories free and I collapsed into her arms, we both passed out in her bed for the rest of the day—though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering River’s concerning lack of sleep as of late.
And as much as I was still on the fence about whether or not this plan of hers was even going to work, shaving off a bit more darkness from the confines of my mind was tempting.
I wanted it to work.
“Yeah,” I murmured around the toast. “We can do that.”
“Excellent.” River’s grin turned feral for half a second, then eased into dimples. She rose abruptly and sauntered out of the kitchen, casting instructions over her shoulder. “But first—get dressed. We’re going out.”
I raised a suspicious brow. “Going where, exactly?”
“You’ve got extra space up here now—even if you aren’t aware of it.” River paused in the doorway and whipped around while she tapped her temple. “So we’re going to make some better memories.”
“Okay, sure,” I deadpanned at her enthusiastic expression. “But where are we going?”
Ice rink.
Of all the places River could’ve dragged me on a brisk Tuesday morning, she chose a giant frozen puddle encircled by fairy lights and booming, overly enthusiastic pop music.
Children zipped past like caffeinated gremlins while I clung to the railing, hobbling on shaky legs, convinced my ankles were going to break.
River, meanwhile, glided by like she’d been born on skates—hands tucked behind her back, posture perfect, dimples flashing each time she lapped me. Show-off.
“Come on,” she sang as she drifted past for the third humiliating circuit. “It’s not that hard—just keep your knees bent.”
I considered vaulting over the railing instead and getting far away from this stupid, slippery nightmare rink before I could fall flat on my face.
“It’s not that simple,” I growled instead, executing a rather impressive iteration of an Irish jig in my attempts to stay upright.
“All right, then. Baby steps.” River slowed, pivoted effortlessly in front of me, and extended both hands. “Trust me?”
I looked at her outstretched palms, then up at her face. The fairy lights reflected in her eyes like tiny galaxies. Tentatively, I took her hands.
River pulled gently, guiding me away from the railing, and my legs did their best wet-noodle impression; I wobbled, cursed, and nearly fell over. Then repeated that process about ten more times.
“You’re doing great!” River righted my every stumble and tugged us closer to the center of the rink.
“Stop twirling,” I snapped when she spun us too quickly.
“That was a one-eighty, not a twirl.” She sighed like it should have been obvious.
I muttered something anatomically improbable, but River just grinned and skated backward like it was the easiest thing in the world, tugging me along with her while I scrambled to stay upright.
After a few minutes of struggling to keep my feet under me, a pint-sized blur in a neon helmet zipped by, executing a flawless hockey stop that peppered my shins with ice shavings. Then the kid flashed a snarky grin at us and rocketed off again.
I scowled after him while River chuckled. “You can’t glare at other people’s children like that.”
“Watch me,” I muttered, wobbling in his snowy wake. “Tiny show-off.”
“Laurie—he’s, like, ten. You’ve got a one-sided rivalry with a child.”
“Yeah, and I’m still losing.” I slipped again, grabbing onto River with a furious groan.
It was rough, and I had no coordination whatsoever, but little by little, my movements stopped resembling that of a newborn deer and started resembling… well, a slightly inebriated deer—but it was progress, nonetheless.
“Bend your knees.” River demonstrated and I did my best to mimic her. “Lean into the glide, not against it.”
I tried it—knees soft, weight centered—and, shockingly, didn’t face-plant. We picked up speed. Wind nipped my cheeks, and for the first time in ages, exhilaration zinged through me without terror riding shotgun.
River released one of my hands. “Think you’ve got it?”
I grimaced when I realized what was coming. “No.”
She let go anyway.
I shot forward on momentum—wobbled—corrected—and kept going. My legs were shaking like crazy, but I didn’t fall. I kept my balance and steered my body and the ice sped by beneath me. A laugh burst from my parted lips, loud and ridiculous and rife with disbelief.
I carved a wide, shaky path, nearly mowing down a kid in a penguin onesie, then returned to River, who caught me when I crashed into her chest.
“Look at you go.” Her arms coiled around me and she held me upright, beaming down at me like I’d just pulled off a triple pirouette and not a shaky half-circle. “You’re a natural.”
“That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” I panted, but the grin stretching my face felt permanently welded there.
“Maybe, but you’re still doing great.” She took my hand, lacing fingers through bulky gloves. “Race you to the other side?”
I was not nearly prepared for that, but I smirked up at her anyway. “Ready to lose?”
We pushed off together. River was elegant as ever, and I was surprisingly enthusiastic—and not as unsteady as before. She still won, obviously, but I was only half a length behind, and when we braked, she reached out to steady me, hands snug at my waist. “Not bad for your first time.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking of trying out for the Olympics next year.” I was grinning so hard my face hurt.
River laughed and we pushed off again, hand-in-hand, skating slow circles around the rink. The more laps we made, the more my body figured out its own physics. Knees springy, weight balanced. I was flying.
Soon I didn’t need River’s hand for balance at all, only for the thrill of swinging her around corners and weaving between other slow-moving skaters.
We whooshed past the kid from earlier—my tiny nemesis—who gaped as I executed an almost-graceful swoop.
I shot the little shit a smug grin as we glided past.
Wind burned my cheeks a happy red, and each breath felt wide open, not squeezed by old restraints. Every shift of my hips was my decision; every slow brake or daring acceleration was on my terms. My body answered only to me.
It was exhilarating.
River skated beside me, content to match my pace, ready to catch me if I faltered—but proud to let me steer. I realized she’d picked the rink for exactly this reason. A place where I was in control, but my safety net—River herself—hovered close by. Autonomy on my terms, with backup.
After a dozen circuits we coasted to the center, momentum dwindling until our skates scraped to a stop. The rink’s fairy lights haloed her dark hair; my pulse still rushed like a song in my ears.
River tugged the collar of my jacket, drawing me closer. “Permission to gloat about my coaching prowess?”
“Please,” I flicked icy flakes off her shoulder, “I only barely managed to not concuss myself.”
River shrugged and brushed my hair from my eyes. “But you managed.”
Then she dipped her head and kissed me. Her mouth was ice-cold against mine, but infinitely soft—and I kissed her back, lips still stuck in that perpetual smile. I wasn’t thinking about my mission, I wasn’t hellbent on revenge.
I wasn’t ready to let go of this impossibly perfect moment.
I knew it would have to end eventually, we couldn’t stand there on the ice forever.
I knew the threat of my enemies—our enemies—would slink back in the moment the euphoria wore off.
I knew this blissful feeling bubbling up in my chest would not last. Not when there was still a war to be waged, not with the remaining poisonous memories still lodged in my head.
But for now, for the brief time we had with our lips locked together, I would let myself relax.
I would let myself love her like I could have if I’d lived a different life.