I glance over into Gwen’s eyes and see sadness lurking just behind her smile.
“I’ll share if you do,” I whisper, dodging the question and throwing the ball back in her court.
Her eyes fill with fear. She looks down, a little nervous. I do the same, and notice as she wrings her hands with worry. Something comes over me, and I instinctively grab her hands, quickly taking them in my lap. She holds on tight and leans against me.
“Or don’t,” I whisper, “To be honest, I’m happy just to sit here with you, Gwen.”
And there it is. The damn truth I can’t escape. The honesty about the way she makes me feel. The overwhelming need growing inside to take a chance. A chance at what? Getting fucked over like my father? No thanks.
But then she holds my hand tight like she’s afraid to let go, and if I’m being honest, I’m scared to let her go as well.
I am not sure how much time passes before I hear her try to hide a sniffle. I look over at her and notice tears streaming down her face. Looking back up at the view, I wonder what I should do next.
Should I ignore it?
Should I be freaked out?
Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
She might have too much baggage.
And shit, I know my home life is weighing me down, too. But as I sit and listen to her sniffles quicken, all I want to do is fucking hold her.
So, without thinking, I let myself do just that.
I wrap my arm around her, and am surprised when she turns to me and buries her head into my shirt. Her sobs are strong but eventually soften, and I slowly run my hand up and down her back. When she is finally quiet, I sit with her held against my chest and realize for the first time I feel grounded.
Complete.
Like there is nowhere I need or want to run to because she is all that could ever matter most in the entire world.
If she could open up to me this easily, maybe I can open up to her as well. It’s a long shot, but something about the way she feels in my arms makes me want to take that chance. Makes me question if maybe she could love me as much as whatever she is crying about. Then, maybe I can learn how to love someone, too.
Maybe I could learn to love her.
Maybe my dad loves my mom, but she doesn’t love him back. If I can learn to love her enough, and in turn, she eventually loves me, then maybe…
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my chest. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so stupid…” she says, sitting up and wiping her face.
I grab her hand and shush her. Bringing her hands between us, I rest them on my lap. Surprised, she looks up, and my free hand instinctively frames her face.
But I won’t kiss her. Not like this. Not when she is hurting and needs a friend. Lord knows, I want to be more, and hell if the thought doesn’t scare me, but right now I just want to be the comfort she needs. I want to take away her pain, like sitting here with her somehow erases mine. Kissing the top of her head, I pull her close, and wrap my arms around her shoulders as we stare back at where the sun used to sit a few minutes ago.
“Rex,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” her soft voice whispers.
I smile. Honestly, I’m the one who should be thanking her.
* * *
My phone rings on the table in front of me, snapping me out of my damn daydream. It’s 7:45 on my first night in New Orleans, and I have been sitting in the back corner of O’Briens for almost an hour now, nursing the same damn beer I bought when I first walked in. I welcome this distraction as I look down and see Troy’s name on the caller ID.
“Hey, what’s up,” my voice is coarse as I hit accept on my cell.
“Where are you at? I went by the hotel, but they said you hadn’t checked in yet. Did you already get the apartment? I thought it would not be ready until next week?”
