Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
FREYA
Itwist my fingers in the strap of my bag, trying to slow the thundering of my heart. I look at the dark wood of Oscar’s front door and pull in long breaths. All this time, and I can’t believe I’ve never been to his place before.
Today at the store felt endless, but it gave me plenty of time to think. Even if I don’t always trust my own mind, I have to at least try to trust the evidence in front of me. Oscar’s only ever been good to me and it’s not fair to either of us for me to keep expecting the worst.
My stomach’s in knots and I force myself to keep my feet planted.
I can’t hear anything, but Oscar’s truck is in the driveway.
What if he’s not here? Maybe I should have called before I came over, but I wanted to see him.
I almost lose my nerve, and am about to retreat to my car when I hear footsteps coming from within the house.
There’s a pause, and I assume he’s looking through the peephole. Oh God, what if he doesn’t open the door? What if he doesn’t want to see me? My throat goes tight and I see my knuckles bleach.
I don’t know what’s worse, the silence, or the sound of the lock turning. The door opens, almost painfully slowly, and he’s there.
I see his eyes first, or rather, the hollows underneath them. He looks wrecked. If I thought he looked tired after his wildfire callout, that has nothing on the way he’s looking at me right now.
“Freya?”
“Hi,” I say weakly. I had it all planned out in my head, I was going to explain everything. But, standing in front of him now, I can’t find the words.
He stares at me for a long time, assessing every detail of my face, before he straightens and pushes a hand through his hair.
His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks. “Would you like to come in?”
I nod, and he ushers me inside.
I’m not sure what I expected his house to look like, but now that I see it, it suits him down to the ground.
The front door leads straight into a living room, most of the space occupied by a large rabbit hutch against the back wall, and what’s left is taken up by a massive leather sectional in front of the TV.
Pictures hang on the walls, a mixture of photographs and art prints that look like they’ve been collected over the course of years, but they still work together. It’s so perfectly Oscar.
“I’m sorry for barging in. I know you wanted to wait until the weekend—”
“Don’t apologize,” he stops me. “I’m always happy to see you.”
I take in his posture, the way he’s holding himself so rigidly, how he’s not quite looking me in the eye. “Really?” I ask quietly. “You don’t seem sure.”
He tips his head to the side. “I’m just waiting to find out why you came.”
I look down at my shoes, hating how uncertain he sounds.
“Are you here to tell me you’re done with me?” he asks, his voice sounding so desperate that it breaks my heart a little.
“I don’t want to be,” I whisper.
“But?”
I pull in a ragged breath.
“But what if I can’t do this? I don’t know if I can be what you want.”
He comes to me in two long strides and takes my face in his hands.
“I don’t want you to be anything. I just want you.
I’m sorry I said what I said at the bar.
I swear I wasn’t trying to force you into anything, it was just a stupid thing that I said in the moment.
” His eyes bore into mine, pleading. “You have to believe me, it was just a mistake.”
“I do, I do believe you.” I grip his wrists. “I’m sorry I panicked.”
“Fuck,” he says hoarsely, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. His grip is tight, like he’s worried I’m going to bolt, but I’m not going anywhere, not anymore.
I fist my hands in the back of his shirt and hug him back, my face buried in his shoulder.
I inhale his scent and I don’t know how it’s possible to have missed it this much in just a few days, but from the first lungful, I feel settled.
“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” I croak, my voice thick with tears.
“You’re not a mess.”
“I am!” I protest. “I don’t want to be scared, I just don’t know how to get past it.”
Every time I start feeling more secure, it’s like getting knocked back by a gust of wind. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning with the force of it and I can’t make it stop.
“We’ll get through it together.”
I drop my forehead to his chest. He holds me there, hands cradling my head as I give voice to my greatest fear. “I just wanted to be loved, so I stayed. But it was never love, was it? And now I feel like he ruined me.”
“Freya.” He pulls away, just enough for him to look at me, one hand coming to my chin and tilting my face up. “Nobody could ever ruin you, it isn’t possible.”
I hiccup, my breathing becoming erratic at the thought.
“You might not be the same person you were, but nobody stays the same forever. You’re fucking perfect, honey.”
Denial is on the tip of my tongue, but he doesn’t let me get it out.
“Look at everything you’ve done, the life you’ve made.
He might have hurt you, but don’t think for one second that he’s taken away a fraction of your shine.
” He holds me in place, not letting me look away.
“And you have to know that I love you. I don’t want to rush you, but you can’t think that you’re not loved.
I’m so in love with you, it makes me feel like I’m going crazy. ”
“What?” I feel like my world’s tilting off-axis. He loves me?
“You don’t need to say it back, I promise that’s alright. I know you’re not there yet, but I needed you to know. I like everything about you, there’s nothing that’s bad, or wrong, or could make me want you less.”
I feel dizzy, like I’d hit the floor without Oscar holding me up. I want to say it back, but I can’t do it. I’m just not ready yet.
He pulls me close again, stroking my hair. I sag against him, relieved that I don’t have to try to find the words.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t need to say anything, there’s no pressure.” I close my eyes, letting myself believe him. “We can go as slow as you need to.”
“You really don’t mind?”
“Not one bit.” I feel the low hum of his words against my throat.
“Does this mean we’re a couple?” I can’t handle any more uncertainty.
He sighs. “I won’t pretend that I don’t want that, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I don’t care what we’re calling it, just as long as we’re doing it.”
I steel myself, pulling together every scrap of courage I have in me. “I think, maybe, that’d I’d like to be.”
He pulls back, face more alight than I’ve ever seen it. It’s infectious, and I can’t stop my own grin from spreading. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit.” He holds me in a tight embrace, clinging on. We stand there for a long time, until the press of my work bag into my shoulder starts getting uncomfortable and I shift away. He releases me from his hold, but doesn’t quite let me go, taking my hands instead. “Do you have to go?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
“Good.” He drops my hands and takes hold of my bag, lifting the strap from my shoulder and dropping it on a hook by the door. My jacket comes next, and he works with confidence to undo each button before he slides it off me.
I go to unbuckle my shoes but he beats me to it, dropping to his knees in front of me. My breath hitches and I feel my whole body flush.
When he rises, he takes hold of my face again. I grab hold of his arms just for something to hang onto.
“Can you tell me again?” I ask. I know it’s selfish, to ask him to repeat it when I’m not ready to say it back, but there’s a part of me that can hardly believe it. Maybe with one more go, I’ll be able to convince myself that it’s true.
He runs a thumb under my bottom lip, tracing the curve like he’s committing it to memory.
“I love you.” His lips meet mine in the softest kiss, like the touch of a butterfly’s wing.
“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth.
“I love you.” Again, against my temple. “I love you.” My nose.
“I love you.” One against each eyelid. He seems in no hurry, content to repeat the words like a prayer against my skin, letting each one sink in.
I feel it again, that sensation at the edges of the void, like it’s filling in at the edges. A fissure inside me is sealing up, and I’m closer to feeling complete.
Somebody loves me.
He loves me.
Oscar loves me.