Inside, her rental was chaotic. The twins' shoes littered the entry, and Huey's bed was jammed in the corner. The kitchen smelled faintly of apples and detergent. She hesitated, then started straight for the girls' rooms, and I trailed behind, silent in the cave of the place.
Packing was brutal. Tash grabbed clothes andstarted folding, but her hands shook so bad she could barely grip the fabric.
I wanted to help, but the moment I brushed her knuckles, the room lit up with static.
She flinched then glared at herself, cheeks hot. "Sorry. Nerves."
I grunted and went to work. "Hand me what you want packed." My hands made tight, neat stacks of clothes, but most of my focus was on her. The way she kept glancing at the door, as if a monster was set to bust in any second.
Caden's hunger was unreal. Every time she leaned close, every time her arm bumped mine, he flared up, pure, raw, possessive.Ours. Ours. Ours. It wasn't even sexual, wasn'tjustsexual, it was need, tangled with history and regret.
We made two passes through the girls' closets, ransacked the bathroom for toothbrushes, then hit the laundry. Every so often, Tash would stop just long enough to press the heel of her hand into her eyes, as if she could rub away the migraine.
"Need a break?" I said.
She didn't answer. Just kept packing.
We boxed up books, art supplies, one ratty plush bear that looked like it'd survived a hundred wash cycles. I couldn't help picturing my daughters,fuck, I still wasn't used to that,mydaughters, curled on the rug, not a clue in the world how close they'd come to disaster. It made my insides go icy.
At one point, our hands collided in a sock drawer. Fingers tangled, then bounced apart like magnets refusing to meet.
She glanced up. "Sorry."
I shook my head. "Don't be."
After that, things went faster. Room by room, item by item. Not a word between us unless it was necessary. I kept waiting for her to explode, or cry, or fight. But she didn't.
When we hit her bedroom, the energy shifted.
She stopped dead in the doorway. The window was open a crack, letting in the taste of winter, and the bed was an explosion of flannel sheets and baby photos.
Tash drifted to the end table and picked up a photo. The twins as infants, cheeks round, fuzz-headed, both of them wrestling a stuffed dragon of all things.
She stared at the picture so long I thought she'd become a ghost herself.
I watched her shoulders shake.
Then, quietly, the tears started. She tried tosmother them in her sleeve. I let her have the silence. She deserved it.
Then she started talking.
"I really tried, you know. I tried for years. Every few months, I'd search. Google, social, people-finder sites. I set up alerts. Even checked alumni directories, just in case you'd surfaced again. After Laurel Gap went dark, I thought maybe you all died in a fire. Or maybe you just hated me that much."
I crossed the room and didn't even stop to think. I just pulled her in.
She folded, her arms tight around my waist, her head crushing into my chest, the whole world crumpling down to the ache of sixteen years lost.
Caden sang, fierce, oh so smug.She's ours. She's ours. Never let go.
I meant for it to be comfort. Just a steady anchor, hold her together so she didn't break all the way. That lasted maybe a second.
Her hands balled in my shirt. She shook, angry and wild, the tears just fueling it. She pressed her face into my shirt and sobbed. The sound carved me open.
I tried to hold her together, arms tight around her, but the truth was I was breaking just as bad. All those years she'd searched. All those years I'd been a shadow in someone else's story.
"Fuck," she whispered, "I don't even know what's real anymore. I don't even know if this is real."
She clung to me, nails digging through the cotton, and time lost all meaning. Past, future, none of it mattered.
