“But I’ll figure it out. I won’t risk you or your happiness. Not again.”
My eyes snap back to him, and this time he’s looking down at me. Tears well, but I keep them from falling as I nod against his chest.
“Good,” I mutter. “That’s good.”
And it has to be.
The quiet night lingers, and I try to force my brain out of the spiral of panic and depression that wants to drag me under. “I never said anything,” I whisper, another piece of guilt tugging at my heart.
“About what?”
“When you said you’re falling for me. I didn’t say anything back.”
He sighs, his chest lifting and lowering under my cheek. “I don’t need you to say anything back. Not anything more than you did.”
“But I should.” I roll onto my side, waiting for him to mirror me. But the stubborn man stays where he is, fighting me even in this. “Trips,” I whisper, needing to know he sees me, even if his eyes pass into shadow as he twists toward me.
I run my hand up his chest, but he halts it with one of his, keeping my fingers pinned against him. “Don’t,” he says.
“Don’t what?”
“Say whatever you’re about to say. Not here. Not now.”
I blink up at him, losing my battle with the few tears I’d been strugglingagainst. “Why?”
The corner of his lips catch in the light, a rueful twist. “Because the poison here ruins everything. And I don’t want to ruin this moment.”
I swallow back more words, more tears, and nod.
Because he’s right. I don’t want to remember these words here.
But a moment later, another thought dawns—he believes we’ll say those words in the future. He believes that my stupid plan is going to work.
Or maybe he just needs that hope. I don’t know. I don’t want to ask.
As he bundles me against him, his warmth welcome as the wind howls against the windows, I don’t know what to believe. I can’t see the future. I can’t even protect the deepest parts of myself—my identity, my heart, my soul.
They’ve all been broken, tarnished, or proven impossibly wrong.
But I’ve got no other choice but to move forward, no matter what the future brings. Freedom or the slow loss of the goodness I thought I had inside of me.
Hope or disaster.
A beginning or an end.
Chapter 47
RJ
Ifall backwards into the water, reacquainting myself with the drysuit and the extra bulk I’m wearing under it. My flippers push me deeper, bubbles flowing in front of my face. The dry bag strapped to my belt is an added impediment. The pool isn’t ideal for this practice, but it’s all I’ve got to work with unless I give up a Saturday to drive out to the country. Sweat coats me, the water kept warm for the normal swimmers.
The dive instructor in Mexico told me I’d be slower in cold water, that I’d have to take it easy and to take special care of my fingers and toes. But half of his advice doesn’t matter. I’m not going down. I’m going across.
Finding a waterproof automatic auger was a bitch, but now that we’ve gathered everything I need to carry with me, I can practice swimming with the awkward weights strapped around my middle. I’m glad I’m here—I’m struggling to staylevel as I take laps around the deep end. But I think this will work. It will be dark, freezing, and creepier than I’d like, but it should work.
It has to.
Pulling myself from the pool, I stash my gear in the car, reminding myself to drop it at Black for Jansen, then head to my next stop.
