War eats the same way I do. Silently and probably without tasting anything.
He’s halfway finished when he raises his head, and his eyes meet mine. The sheen in them is absolutely heartbreaking.
“All these years. All. These. Years. It’s ridiculous, but sometimes, I found myself believing those lies, and I wondered if I hadn’t done something wrong, something I should atone for. I knew that…that what happened that night wasn’t what she said. That I wasn’t one of those guys who refused to understand, hear, or see. But…”
“It wasn’t your fault, Warrick. You need to hear that. You’ve been living in penance all these years. It absolutely was not your fault. You’re a good man. The best man I’ve ever known.”
I want him to be okay. I want him to believe what I’m saying. I want him to have the good things the world damn well owes him. If karma is real, it needs to get its fucking act together already and come the fuck on.
“I…do you want to…” I let that linger. I’ll do anything he wants to do, including giving him space if that’s what he needs.
“What I want to do right now is work out until I can’t think anymore. I want to fall into bed and sleep without worry crushing me. I just need a night to process this, and in the morning, I want to wake up as a man. My own man. Someone who has his own hopes and dreams, not a man ground to dust under the expectations and dictations of his past and family.” He scrubs his hand over his beard so hard that the hairs stand on end, making it look extra bushy. “I’m sorry. You worked so hard to put all this together. This isn’t the night you imagined.”
I hop off the stool and throw myself at him so hard that he nearly tips over backward. He twists at the last second, his back hitting the counter to balance us both.
“This is the best and worst thing that could have happened,” I say to his shoulder, breathing in the pine, sandalwood, and plaid scent of him and sinking further and further into his warmth. And yes, I swear plaid actually has a scent. It smells like trees and a cold lake, a little bit like a sweaty bearded lumberjack, and like extra muscley muscledness set off by a backdrop of mountains and blue skies. “You should take the time to process it.”
After a moment, his chin rests on the crown of my head like he’s just too tired to hold it up. “Thank you.”
It goes against all my instincts to let him go, but I manage to unwind my arms and untangle myself. “I’m going to clean up theliving room and then go for a swim and just read, but I won’t lock the door. If you feel like you need some platonic, friendship-style company later, feel free to come in. I can even read you some of the terribly ridiculous smut that I enjoy so much. I just found this book about a woman who falls in love with her refrigerator. Granted, it’s actually an alien in hiding. He’s worried that since his real form looks like sewer goop, and he literally drips slime and smells marshy, she won’t be able to love him, so right now, he’s just chilling as a fridge. Literally.”
It takes War a long while to crack a smile. “That’s the most insane thing I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, but it’s actually pretty awesome.”
I reluctantly let him go. I clean up the kitchen, then do exactly what I said I would. I tackle the living room, stacking all the cardboard neatly to be reused or recycled, then change into my bathing suit for a long swim in which I don’t try and hold my breath because I don’t want to freak War out, should he happen to look outside and see me. He’s had enough surprises for a single day.
I know I care about him by the level of hurt I feel the entire time.
It is awful, but in a way, I know how freeing it is for him. No one should hear things like that, but in this case, it’s exactly what he needed to move on. Ironically, this very thing has given him and Reg a chance.
My heart still feels like it’s been flayed wide open. I don’t know how War has spent all these years trying so hard, going on, and living what he can of his life. It’s true he didn’t do it fully for himself, but he found reasons to go on. He could easily have hardened himself to the point of a stone that couldn’t bleed or feel or love anything or anyone, but he didn’t. It makes me enraged that someone took advantage of his goodness,that Candice stole from him for decades. At the same time, a reluctant, burning, half-terrible hope rises up in me.
I think about all of that until it’s late. No wonder War needed to work out to the point of exhaustion. As it is, I’m battling with this so fiercely, and I’m not the one it happened to.
Just as I’m thinking about him for the thousandth time, hoping that by now, he’s fallen into that deep sleep he craved, the door cracks open.
I sit bolt upright in bed, clutching the blankets to my chest.
“Amalphia?”
I go soft with relief. I knew it was him, but at the same time, I was not sure my mind would never conjure midnight monsters, even though I knew no one could get into his backyard because of the fences and cameras around the house.
“Warrick.” I shift over and pat the spot beside me on the bed. I slowly let my breath out, not wanting to pry, but Ineedto ask him the age-old, stupid question. “Are you okay?”
I see his head bob in the dark. “I was hoping that maybe you hadn’t changed your mind about reading that fridge romance. It’s random how close it is to my heart, considering I work with air conditioners all day.”
I lean over the bed to flick the lamp on, then shove back over to my spot beside the wall, leaving the other side wide open. “I haven’t changed my mind. Not at all.”
Chapter fifteen
Warrick
Amalphia starts at the beginning and reads for hours. She’s got a digital copy of the book on her phone. It might be extremely old-fashioned of me, but I’ve never read anything electronic. She says she prefers the feel of real paper in her hands, the smell of old books, and the whole tangible experience, but paper copies are expensive, and the library doesn’t get stuff like this very often, if ever.
She reads for hours. It was already late when I got here. Dawn comes early in the summer, and by the time Amalphia reaches the end, there’s already the first grey-blue smudges of the early morning chasing away the purple-blackness of night.
After plugging her phone into the charger and setting it on the nightstand, Amalphia gives me a wide-eyed look. She’s on her side of the bed, and I’m on mine. Not that I have a side. I should saythe area she moved over and made for me.
