Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The hazy golden glow emanating from the front porch cuts through damp night to greet us as River pulls into the driveway of a house I never thought he’d see.
The strangeness, the wonder of it all, clenches my heart between its teeth.
I fell in love with the compact craftsman the first time we toured it, but only had a few months here before I left.
Charlie’s let the flower beds go a little wild, but the lush rose bushes flanking the front two tapered columns are in vivid crimson bloom.
My palms sweat as I grab the pizza box off the dash and get out of the car.
“Here.” I hand the box off to River and duck to offer Charlie assistance in the back seat.
“I’m good.” He waves me off, wincing as he stands. His sore body probably feels even worse after the hour-long drive back from the prison.
“Two broken ribs, one fractured, and eighteen stitches across two areas of your body doesn’t sound like good to me.” I loop myself under his arm and help anyways.
“I broke ribs not my leg. Besides, your hip—”
“Is fine. Whatever overpriced ibuprofen they gave me worked like a charm.”
River waits at the door with the pizza, and Charlie calls out the code for the smart lock.
I can read my brother’s expressions so well—that little half eye-roll scowl combo means he thinks Charlie’s a complete idiot for trusting him, a stranger, with such sensitive information.
Or maybe he thinks the smart lock’s pretentious.
Or he holds it against Charlie that we lost all of our gear.
Or he simply doesn’t like Charlie. Yet.
River didn’t say much when I explained what happened while we were at the hospital, keeping his cards close to his chest. The most I could pick up on was that he was nervous, like he thought Charlie showing back up might upend our lives or shift our dynamic. But he didn’t ask any questions.
I was grateful because I still don’t have any answers.
River lets out a low whistle as he walks inside. He quirks an accusatory brow at the commanding fireplace then at me. “You lived here?”
I half-shrug, smiling apologetically. Leaves a lot to be desired about the dumpy apartment we share.
The house is different than I remember. Emptier. Less . . . alive. Familiar, yet strange. Charlie’s taken down most of the decor. Not a single photo of us remains on the walls.
“How many bedrooms is it?” River peeks around the corner into the dining room, sneakers squeaking on the hard wood as he pivots.
“Three.” Glancing up at Charlie, I clear my throat. “Speaking of that, Riv, I talked to Charlie and he said we could stay here tonight, since it’s so late and we’re still a half hour away from home.”
River’s brow furrows as he slides the pizza box on the kitchen island. “Oh. Okay. Sure. Whatever. I just need to cancel with Payton. We were supposed to do movie night tonight.”
My eyes narrow, silently chastising, You were supposed to just say “Thanks, Charlie,” you little twerp. But for as frustrating as his response is, I know he’s had an unbelievably long, taxing day and a lot of wrenches thrown in to process on top of it all. He deserves some grace.
Charlie glances between us. “She can come over here? If that’s cool with you, Win?”
“No offense, but you don’t look like you own the kind of stuff we watch. It’s not usually on streaming,” River says, with so much attitude I’m struck with bonafide I’m-so-sorry-about-my-kid embarrassment.
“Riv!” I hiss.
But Charlie chuckles. “I have a bunch of your sister’s old collection in the console cabinet.”
River shoots me a pointed look, waiting for me to vouch for that.
“I know there’s at least a copy of Little Shops of Horrors.” I roll my eyes and am pleased to find the plates exactly where I remember them being. I set a stack out.
“So, she can really come over?” River parrots.
“Sure. Make yourselves at home,” Charlie says. The word home ties itself in a delicate bow around my heart. “If it’s okay with your sis—”
“Bet.” River swipes open his phone. “You’re cool with that, right, Win?”
He’s already halfway to the living room, waiting for Payton to pick up his FaceTime when I holler, “Sure. Why the hell not.”
Charlie and I exchange a glance. I sigh and amusement flickers back in his eyes.
I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline wearing off or the lingering effect of whatever they gave him for the pain at the urgent care clinic, but he’s been quiet ever since we left Black Magnolia.
Quiet in a way that makes my stomach twist itself into knots.
Our bubble of trauma-bonded bliss, holding tight to each other in the wake of survival, is near popping. We can’t avoid reality forever. Charlie’s words from earlier echo in my head.
But there is a lot more I need from you if we’re ever going to fix this. And right now, I’m not sure if you’ll ever give it to me.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, acid churning in my gut.
He nods and rests against the counter. “Just strange.”
“Strange?”
Five heartbeats pass before he speaks in slow, measured syllables. “Having you back here.”
My breath hitches. “Oh.”
“I imagined this scenario in a million different ways since you left,” he says distantly. “This wasn’t how I saw it happening.”
I can’t get a read on his tone and it makes me want to scratch my way out of my skin like an animal. “I—uhm . . .”
Charlie opens the junk drawer next to him, bracing his injury with one hand and digging through it with the other until he extracts a glasses case. He pulls out a thick-framed black pair that take me right back to the first year we dated.
I snort. “I don’t think I realized you kept those.”
“As backup.” He slides them on his face.
“You wore them, what? Twice?”
“Three times.” His mouth curls as he takes the lenses back off, cleaning them with the hem of his filthy shirt. “And then you said you liked my old ones better.”
“And I never saw those black ones again. Until now,” I say. In silence, he works a stubborn spot on the glass. I clear my throat. “Thanks for letting us stay here tonight. Saving us the drive. It’s been a long day.”
“Mhmm,” he hums, satisfied with his work. The glasses go back on. For some reason, I’m more endeared to them now than I was in college.
“Is the guest room already made up?” I bite down on the inside of my cheek as I rub my elbow and decide to take the leap. “I might need an extra blanket. River’s a cover hog.”
He presses his lips into a slash and meets my eyes as he reads right between my lines.
“I’d really prefer it if you could just ask me.
” Quieter, he adds, “What here is worth saving if we can’t even talk to each other, Win?
What is so wrong with us that you can’t even fathom asking me if you can sleep in our bed tonight? ”
My throat clogs with the sting of his words, but before I can try speaking, River glides back into the kitchen.
“Pay and I are gonna eat outside. The string lights are a vibe.” River scoots between Charlie and I, oblivious to the tension he’s slicing right through, and stacks two plates with pizza. “Her Uber’s almost here.”
“Same rules stand, okay?” I bump his shoulder with mine. “No closed doors. Same curfew.”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” River muffles around a mouthful of crust.
Charlie and I stand in silent stand-off until the back door shuts.
“The weirdo eats his pizza backwards.” It’s a lame attempt at a joke and it doesn’t even work. I flit to the box River left wide open. “You want me to make you a plate?”
He stares at me, some fusing of disappointment and frustration storming behind the unfamiliar lenses. “I’m not hungry,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I’m going to shower.”
He starts for the hallway, his gait favoring his left side.
My whole body is so rigid with fear and resistance, I want to scream at myself: TALK TO HIM.
I pinch my thigh hard as he disappears, daring myself to work up the courage.
I chase ghosts for fun, dammit. Communicating with my husband shouldn’t be so challenging.
Lashing a groan, I follow after him into the bedroom we used to share, tired of my own bullshit.
“Charlie—”
“I’m capable of showering alone,” he deadpans, pushing open the door to the en suite bathroom. Contrary to what he said, he winces as he bends to twist the faucet on the brass wall mount shower affixed to the clawfoot tub.
“Likely story, considering you look like you’re about to pass out every time you reach for something.”
“Win,” he sighs. Turning toward the vanity sink, he takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You’re giving me whiplash here. You put me through hell when you left.
This afternoon you couldn’t wait to get away from me, and then you kiss me.
You sleep with me. And now you—what? I don’t even know what you want. ”
I catch his gaze in the mirror as steam fogs at its edges, like we’re tumbling through a dream. I’ve hurt him so much, but I’m ready to fight and make it right. I’m ready to come home, if he’ll take me.
I take his hand, still staring into his reflection.
“I want to talk, Charlie.” I twine our fingers together.
“Earlier, I thought I lost you. And I realized that I couldn’t live with myself if I never told you the truth.
” I exhale a shaky breath and his grip tightens.
“Maybe it won’t be enough for you to forgive me, and you’ll want to walk away from this for good. But you deserve to know.”
Charlie sits on the edge of our bed; I pace anxiously in front of him and start from the top: the text I got about River on Thanksgiving.
He listens intently as I detail the terror I felt and what I came home to. I wade into the murky waters of explaining the dynamic we grew up in—the chaos, the unpredictability, the emotional turmoil, the self-medication with alcohol.