I moved between them, gently pressing a hand to David’s chest. “That’s enough,” I murmured. “You’re not helping.”
David’s fists were clenched at his sides, trembling. His breaths rasped as they passed through cracked, dry lips.
Elliot broke first. Adjusted his bag on his shoulder. Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked toward the door like the conversation hadn’t happened at all.
He didn’t slam it. Didn’t stomp. He just…left.
The back door opened and closed like a heartbeat fading away. The air had become thinner. Like he’d taken all the oxygen with him.
Neither of us moved.
I turned to David. My hand still hovered against his chest. He was shaking. His face was pale, lips pressed into a flat line that betrayed nothing and everything.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered.
“Youaredoing it. You have to. He. Needs. You.” I punctuated my words with every ounce of volatile pain that existed between them. “Now more than ever.”
“No,” David rasped, backing away toward the sink. “Every time I look at him, I see her. I see the way she looked… on that hospital bed. I see what’s gone. What I’ve lost.” He ran a trembling hand through his short graying hair. “Ihatehim.” Tears glistened in his empty eyes. “For living. For being here… when she isn’t.”
The words hung in the air like a body on a noose. I froze. Couldn’t breathe. That was the kind of truth youdidn’tsay out loud. Not unless you were ready to bury something forever. Or spill your broken to someone far more qualified than me. Someone who understood psychology and what you were saying without actually saying it.
“You…” I croaked, unable to finish my thought.
“I don’t really hate him,” he added quickly, but it didn’t matter. The damage was already done. “I just… I don’t know how to be around him anymore. I don’t know how to be afatherto that.”
He gestured toward the empty space Elliot had left behind, like it was tainted, haunted.
I took a step closer, voice softer now. “You don’t have to know how. You just have totry. Even broken things can hold weight.” David looked at me like I’d asked him to breathe underwater.“Have you thought about talking to someone again?” I enquired. “A therapist?”
David’s jaw tightened. His expression went flat. “No. Don’t start with that shit. Again.”
“David—”
“I saidno.” He turned, grabbed his untouched mug, and hurled it into the sink. It shattered like brittle bone, ceramic exploding against the steel.
Then he was gone. The office door slammed a second later. I stood there for a long time. The only sound was the humming of the refrigerator and the memory of Elliot’s retreat echoing in my chest.
The air hadthat kind of weight to it—the kind that pressed against your chest and reminded you that you were still breathing, whether you wanted to be or not. Not exactly cold, but just enough that it raised goosebumps and made the night feel like a ghost brushing past your skin.
I was sat out on the back deck, elbows resting on my knees, wind tugging at the sleeves of my jacket like it was trying to pull me off the edge. David had gone to bed hours ago. The house lights were off when he left me with a parting grunt almost like he was surprised I was still there. Everything behind me was still. Silent like the grave we’d left her in.
Somewhere down the road a car passed, tires hissing against wet asphalt. Then nothing again.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Elliot didn’t want help. Hell, maybe he didn’t wantanything.
But I couldn’t shake the look in his hazel eyes from my mind. It haunted me every time mine fell closed. Not the anger or the exhaustion—those were always there—but that split-second hollowness right before the door shut. Like something inside him had finally given up. Like some integral part of him had died.
That image wouldn’t let me go.
So I stayed. I waited and hoped he’d come back.
The wood creaked beneath me. A bottle of vodka rested at my side, cracked open and half-empty. I hadn’t lit a cigarette yet—I’d been trying to quit for years—but I’d picked up a new pack earlier, anyway. There was a certain level of comfort in the old habits. Something to hold when I didn’t know what else to do with my hands. Something to light if the silence got too loud.
It was past midnight. Stars punched through the cloud cover in jagged constellations. The kind you couldn’t name but stared at anyway, hoping for answers. The wind picked up again, colder now, sharper as it came in off the cliffs. I should’ve gone inside. Should’ve gone back to the Inn.
But I didn’t.
I stayed.
