Sniffling, I torpedo launch myself into his arms as his words whizz through my mind on repeat. I’ve convinced myself for so long that I need to live for everyone who loves and cares about me, but Saint is right. I have to want to live for me too, and it’s critical to find a way to do that before I’m too far down the hole, with no way out.
CHAPTER 9
Saint
Our quiet confessions were eye-opening. I’ve considered that there would be no life for me if Lake weren’t alive. That wasn’t a surprise, but I don’t believe she ever thought about it in the sense that just because she feels unworthy, it’s not how we…specifically me…see her.
I remain hopeful that my words got through to her. She’s been writing in a journal or diary since we came inside. I’ve tried to stay busy by checking on the chicken soup, ensuring the hot tub is ready for later, and setting out the feed, hoping it will entice some wildlife to come near.
Without invading Lake’s privacy, I sit on the opposite end of the couch, prop my feet up on the coffee table, and flick the TV on to a movie channel playing something with Sandra Bullock and Channing Tatum.
Leaning my head back into the cushion, my eyes close, and I listen to the rustling sound of Lake’s pen moving across paper, trying not to imagine what she’s writing about. The contents will likely piss me off, and that’s the last thing she needs when she’s come here to escape and find healing in the peace.
Was joining her the wrong move? Or would she have finally taken advantage of the solitude and ended her life, leaving me behind? It’s a selfish thought, and I’m doing my damnedest not to pressure her into thinking I’m the sole basis for her survival.
What I spoke of earlier was true; Lake must find a reason to live for herself. The family can’t be the defining factor. I can’t be why she remains miserable for the rest of her days.
“I wrote it down.” Her shaking voice alerts me to her pain. Renewed pain that can’t be mimicked or healed with simple words.
She hands me her journal, with aching sadness in her beautiful sapphire eyes. I take it from her and stare down at our fingers, both holding onto it until she releases it.
Clearing her throat, her eyes don’t meet my penetrating stare as she says, “You can read it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say the words out loud, it’s too painful, but I can write it down.”
“Do you want me to read it?”
Eyes as watery as a crystal-clear lake meet mine, and her answer appears before she says the words. “I want you to understand why I wish for death, why it’s so hard for me to move forward. Why I can’t find the beauty in anything anymore.”
Watching her curl into herself, I lean forward to place the book on the table and pull her into my arms. Comforting Lake is a hell of a lot more important than reading about what happened to her.
She could never tell me, and I’d be fine with it because the thing about Lake and me is that I already know all there is about her. I know she prefers iced coffee to hot, and she hates minty toothpaste, so she uses kids’ bubblegum-flavored. She can’t stand the texture of cotton candy but loves the flavor. Her favorite show is Rizzoli & Isles, and she still holds out hope for a movie where Jane and Maura adopt a baby together because they are soulmates.
Everything important about Lake Sutton is stored firmly in my mind, and reading about her trauma won’t change any of it. It will, however, reinforce her fear that I’ll leave her.
“When you’re ready for me to read that, that's when I will open it.” Kissing the top of her head, I squeeze her close, offering the comfort she craves. “I don’t want it between us, but I won’t force your hand, sweet haven. Not about anything.”
Her lips move on my throat, and I force back the strangled moan trapped beneath my Adam's apple. “Thank you, Saint.” Featherlight kisses brush across my skin, and my hands tighten their hold on her body before she can pull away. “When we get home, I need you to read it. I might not be able to speak the words, but you have to know.”
Swallowing back a response, I submit to her request.
Sitting here like this, it’s so… normal, watching a rom-com and cuddling. Not a position I imagined myself in, but I’m not mad about it. The woman I’ve spent my life protecting and loving is in my arms, starting to open up to me while maintaining her dignity in a way she’s comfortable with. I can’t complain about that.
As the movie credits roll, Lake crawls off my lap and uses the bathroom. I take the opportunity to stir dinner and slide the premade biscuits into the oven.
“Why don’t you pick another movie?” I suggest when she returns.
“You liked that?” Her eyes alight with a spark of excitement.
“I didn’t mind it. There was action and humor.” I’d watch anything she asked me to. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes if you want to find something else, and I’ll bring it over.”
It’s a refreshing change to see color in her cheeks. She’s been lifeless and pale for so long.
“There’s a J-Lo and Josh Duhamel one on Prime that’s good,” she says hesitantly.
“Do it.”
I retrieve a couple of bowls from the cupboard and pull the biscuits from the oven, setting them on the stove to cool while I dish up our soup. Rummaging through the cupboard under the island, I find a tray to place our bowls on, then fill a plate with the biscuits and grab a couple of Sprites from the fridge.
Bringing everything over to Lake, we sit on the floor in front of the couch as she starts the movie, and we eat in silence as it begins. It takes a little while to get to the action, but I can see now why Lake says it has good ratings.
