I lean back into the giant sofa of the cinema room as she leans her head against the cushion, her eyes on mine.
It’s two years to the day since I lost my wife and son. A day that’s so filled with hurt, anger, and pain. I don’t even know how I functioned. We all went to their graves together just as we did the day we buried them after flying them home from Cape Town.
It rained. Like it did that day.
Sinclair broke down. Like she did that day.
Sullivan held her. Like he did that day. Only this time, he had Molly crushed to his chest in one arm too.
Mal came to stand by my side. Like he did that day.
And Denver stood to one side, along with Killian and Jenson who flew back yesterday, their hunt in Cape Town bringing up nothing to explain how the yacht exploded out of nowhere.
And I’m still left without answers.
Like I was that day.
But this year when we all came back to Seasons to have lunch together, a soft hand with caring fingers wrapped around mine tightly beneath the table and didn’t let go.
I swear I almost kissed her again for being there waiting for us. Not the frantic kiss in my office where I barely controlled myself. A slow kiss. One conveying just how damn grateful I was for her being there.
For making me feel that little bit less alone.
“I happen to like poetry.”
Her giggle makes my lips curl into a smile, and she darts her eyes around the rarely used room. She spotted it when I gave her a tour of my penthouse, doing everything I could to delay her from leaving. She’d walked inside in wonder, then made herself comfy on the couch, patting the cushion. Inviting me to sit beside her.
That was hours ago.
We started off talking about Jenny. About her funeral. All the love songs Hallie made her parents play because it’s what Jenny would have wanted. How they all wore different colored socks in bright colors. How there were smiles as well as tears, and how Hallie felt love filling the church like Jenny was there with them.
Then I told her about my son. How he was an adrenaline junkie. How he loved to jump out of airplanes, white water raft, bungee jump. Anything that most sane people would balk at. How Sullivan called him a ‘risk taker’, the complete opposite of himself. I admitted that I worry for my remaining son. How losing them has hardened him. How if it weren’t for Molly I don’t know what kind of state he’d be in.
Hallie listened to every word, as they spilled from my lips like water from a faucet.
She shared her pain with me, and I shared mine with her.
And each extra word we shared was like a balm to my cracked soul as I let myself remember him, and Hallie let herself remember her.
If Jenny was pure love like Hallie says, then my son was pure life. Living it on the edge every day.
Until he wasn’t.
“Read me something,” she murmurs, attempting to stifle a yawn.
It’s late. Far too late for her to still be here. But I know she’s reluctant to leave me today. If I ask her to stay all night, she probably will. But I can’t ask that of her. I won’t.
“Okay.” I thumb through the worn book.
Hallie places a finger between the pages. “Let the universe pick.”
“As you wish.” I look at the page she stopped me on and read.
“When you’re in love with a woman, you see the world in her eyes, and you see her eyes everywhere in the world.”
She picks at some lint on her skirt, averting her eyes from my face. “So is this what you do when you invite women back to your place? Woo them with romantic poetry? Read to them in that voice?”
“What voice?”
