Nash
After an hour, Raelynn still hasn’t come downstairs. No footsteps. No creaking floorboards. Not a single sound.
Parked on her couch, elbows on my knees, I stare down at my boots, wondering what I should do. I’ve been here so long, it would be weird to leave now. Wouldn’t it? She didn’t tell me to get out. Just…let go. But why?
My backpack and toolbox sit next to the door. I could head down to the basement and get to work. At least then, I’d have something to stop me from replaying that kiss over and over again.
Raelynn came alive in my arms. That first day when I caught her at the dojo, I saw the fire in her eyes. But the storm broke her somehow. It doesn’t matter that I’d only exchanged a few words with her before that night. I knew. She lost something after the panic attack and found it again—briefly—over donuts and that one, passionate kiss.
I can’t just sit here. But disappearing into the basement doesn’t feel right either. So, instead, I head for the kitchen and clean up from breakfast. It doesn’t take long—two plates, Raelynn’s empty mug, a few crumbs scattered over the table in the breakfast nook—and when I’m done, I stare at the coffee pot, wondering how much of an ass I’d be if I poured myself another cup.
“You’re still here.”
I whirl around, almost dropping my mug. The sight of Raelynn’s swollen eyes and splotchy cheeks makes my heart hurt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I’m—”
“Brooks used to call me Rae.” Her voice holds none of its usual strength. She won’t look at me—focusing just over my shoulder instead—and pulls a heavy flannel shirt tightly around her body.
“Brooks?” The truth registers the moment the name leaves my lips. “Your husband. God, Raelynn. I’m so sorry.”
A single tear glistens on her cheek. If I thought she’d let me, I’d wipe it away.
“You didn’t know.” With a deep sigh, she drags the cuff of the shirt across her cheek. “It’s been four years. I thought…ain’t nothin’ gonna bring him back. But…”
The hitch in her voice smashes my resolve. In two steps, I’m right in front of her, and she steps into my arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But when she rests her head on my shoulder, I know however much pain I caused her, it’s nothing compared to what she lives with every single day.
“You’re not supposed to ‘get over’ losing someone you love. You learn to live with the pain of missing them until it’s…part of you.” My words sound heavy and awkward as I close my eyes and try to picture Mae. But after all these years, I can only remember her red curls. The freckles she hated. Everything else about her is mostly…gone.
We stay locked together for what feels like an hour but is probably only minutes before Raelynn straightens and I let her go.
“I can’t have you here right now, Nash.” She pins her gaze to the floor and backs up until she hits the counter. “Can you come back tomorrow? Maybe then…”
“I can be here at eleven.” I wish she’d look at me. Give me some indication she’ll be all right alone. But she doesn’t answer. Only nods and tugs at her shirt.
Shit. Can I really leave her like this?
“I don’t have any right to ask, but will you text me later? Just to let me know you’re okay?”
Her head jerks up, shock arching her brows. She presses her lips together, and I can’t tell if she’s angry or trying not to cry. Until she whispers, “I will.”
Chapter Eight
Raelynn
The afternoon sun warms my back as I drop into a forward fold. I’m the only one at Hidden Agenda’s warehouse—for once—so my favorite, Queen, blares through the speakers along the wall.
After Nash left, my house felt so…empty. The moment he walked out the front door, I knew I’d made a mistake. Hell, a whole mess of them.
His kiss rocked my whole world, but then I had to go and fuck it all up.
Now the only way I’ll sleep tonight is to push my body to its limits.
The climbing wall taunts me from the corner of the room. As desperate as I am to prove I’m back to full strength, Ryker would kick my ass if he found out I tried it alone. Though there aren’t any cameras inside the warehouse, he’d still know. Somehow.
Once I finish my warmup stretches, I jog over to the start of the indoor track. Last week’s pitiful running splits are still on the whiteboard. Beating them might make me feel less like a worthless piece of shit who can’t handle her own damn emotions.
On the fourth lap, I hit a wall. My entire body aches and all I want to do is curl into a ball and go to sleep. Shit. My hour-long crying jag left me dehydrated, and I haven’t eaten anything since I stole the last of Nash’s maple bar this morning.
The fridge is stocked with Gatorade, yogurt, and fresh fruit, and I crack the seal on one of the bottles. The fake “blue raspberry” flavor threatens to turn my stomach, but the brain-freeze gets to me first.
