I form an “Oh” with my mouth and accept the steaming, frosted treat.
“I prefer to have mine with coffee. Want some coffee?” he asks, setting a plate down beside me.
“Sure.”
I take a seat at the bar counter in his kitchen and inspect the room. There’s an industrial, modern-style influence to the decor and setup, but there’s another influence too, I just can’t figure it out. From the dark-gray cabinets to the backsplash behind the sink in blacks, grays, and blues, it screams of Ruin’s personality and edge. I tap my fingers on the dyed concrete countertops, my steaming cinnamon roll forgotten on the plate as I wait for coffee.
Ruin’s phone chimes in his pocket, and without slowing, he answers while pouring another heaping scoop of coffee grounds into the top of a simple, twelve-cup coffee maker. He tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder. I tell myself not to eavesdrop, but I can’t help listening in the small space.
“No.” He pauses. “Yes.” Pauses again. “Okay, I will send you what I have managed to scrape up. It’s not a lot, but anything is better than nothing. Yeah, okay. Thanks, man.”
He hangs up the phone and turns to me. I smile as he moves in for a kiss, brushing a hand over my cheek. “Morning,” he says as if it’s our first greeting of the day, even though we sat entwined in the bed for several minutes earlier.
“Morning.”
“How did you sleep?” he asks.
I lift up a hand and teeter it from side to side as if to say I slept only so-so, which earns me a grunt and a frown. “I’m just kidding.” I wink. “I slept great.”
We eat the sticky breakfast desserts and chat for a while about all sorts of topics. But my mind can’t seem to clear itself of the accident. Finally, I convince myself that I need to ask him. He was always straightforward with me before, and I am hoping he will be now.
“Ruin, remember the last night we were together? You know, before I moved away.”
“Yeah,” he says, brows knitting together.
Okay, here goes nothing, Avalee. Don’t be too pushy. You don’t want him to shut down or evade.I reach over the bar-style counter, it’s cold against my forearm, and rest my hand over his. “I dreamed about it last night. It was so vivid and clear, as if it happened yesterday. I mean, I can’t remember all the details, but it played out like an old home video, you know? Anyway, somehow, I’d forgotten about the wreck. I can see you so clearly, taking off your outer layers and running into the water after the sinking car. I was always curious about what happened to the driver of the car,” I say, and his hand flinches under mine. I open my mouth to say more, but I pause, the silence filling the space between us. After a moment, I add, “And I was so worried about you. I couldn’t call for help. I couldn’t check on you. My parents, they just packed up everything, me included. What happened to the driver?”
“The one who ran away?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. The one you risked your life to save. Whatever happened to them?” I can’t believe I actually forgot about that wreck. I guess between my assault and the sheer time since the accident, I blanked out that memory. Maybe the trauma from my assault was more than enough to take over past traumatic experiences. But in the dream, I felt all those same raw emotions again. The fear that Ruin was hurt or drowning. The fear of what he found when he got to the driver—if he was able to, that is. Those fears followed me for a very long time, but eventually, I had to reach for hope that he was okay and that everything would work out the way it was meant to in the end.
Ruin’s expression darkens, his hand pulling out from under mine as he stands up and turns away from me. “She died,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
I cup a hand over my mouth and one over my heart. One of my fears has been realized. I can’t even imagine what he must have gone through trying to save her. “Oh no. That’s awful!”
He nods, and I bite my bottom lip, kicking myself for my impeccable talent at bringing up things that make Ruin sad and reserved and distant. He takes a deep breath in, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and turns back to face me. Tears reside in his eyes, his long lashes barely cloaking them as he casts his gaze to the hardwood floor.
He works his hands for a moment, and I see him struggle with his thoughts and words, and then I go to him. I stop his hands with mine and reach up to cup his cheek in my other. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it yet if you aren’t ready.”
“No. You should hear my side of the story. The events that unfolded that night are what put me behind bars for four years.” He shakes his head, the tears never fall, but his face is haunted by this particular memory.
I try to understand how he could have wound up behind bars after an accident that neither of us had anything to do with, and I can’t seem to pin down a connection. Ruin takes my hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze as he guides us out to the little covered patio situated against the backside of his house. Stormy races up to us, panting with excitement. I bend down to give him a little scratch behind the ears before he takes off again, legs stretching as he gallops around the fence. Clearly, he’s enjoying having space to roam. Ruin’s backyard probably feels like a giant new world compared to my small apartment.
We sit around a handmade picnic table with bench-style seating, and I wonder if Ruin built it himself. The morning sun shines down, lighting up the morning dew still clinging to rich green grass and on the flower beds by the patio. It’s beautiful and serene. Like the house and the man, the yard is simple. A large grill with a propane tank sits at the edge of the patio, and one large oak stands tall at the end of the yard. I follow the length of its trunk up toward a canopy of lush branches and leaves.
I wait patiently as Ruin seems to find how to begin the story, and I wonder if there is anything I can do to make it easier for him.
“Okay,” Ruin says, leaning his elbows over his knees and steepling his fingers. “Time to tell you about the night I was charged with vehicular homicide and attempted assault.”
Twenty-Two
Ruin
Where do I begin?
Stormy prances over and lies down at my feet. I give him a good tummy rub and then look over at Avalee. Her rich brown eyes are watching me, waiting. I glance over at the old oak, its limbs and leaves swaying in the crisp morning air.
“I told you to go home, that everything would be okay.” I pause, laughing inside at the irony of those words. “But everything wasn’t okay.” As I begin the story, I’m transported back to that night, and my house, Avalee, my current life, fade into the background.
