“Go away,” she grumbles, but she makes no effort to create distance between us.
“You know, I’m starting to think you’re flirting with me, Adhira,” I say, letting out a deep, humourless chuckle, catching her side-eyed glance.
“Then you must be dense.”
I’ve missed her so goddamn much that hearinganythingfrom her lips is enough for me. But since we’re here, and I have an apparent death wish, I lean closer, trying not to make it obvious as I breathe in the warm scent of her shampoo.
I hover my mouth just above her ear and whisper, “You mustwantme to pick you up.”
I don’t miss the way she shivers. A thrill of excitement leaps through my chest as I wrap my arms around her, cradlingher against me while she yelps, smacking a palm against my breastbone. I carry her into the living room, sinking to my knees at the entrance of our little cave.
“Just let me go,” she whines, a mixture of anger and sadness breaking her words—and my heart along with it.
“You see, sweetheart, I can’t do that,” I tell her, nuzzling into her hair. “Because you’re breaking my goddamn heart, and I can’t stand by and watch you become a shell of yourself anymore. I’ve given you your space, but now? Now you face this. And I’m not letting you go until you actually want me to.”
I manoeuvre us inside, depositing her onto her side of the cushions. My tightly wound muscles relax as the fight continues to burn in her eyes, but her desire to leave me is extinguished. She relaxes against the stack of cushions, and I crawl in after her, pausing to adjust the ones above us so they don’t collapse.
The space is tight, and I use it as an excuse to invade her space even more, squishing myself to her side. When I’m convinced she’s not going to flee, I allow my eyes to roam over her, noting all the changes I see. Her hair is even thinner than before, still glossy and long, but a crown of broken strands sits atop her head. Dark circles are smudged beneath her eyes, and her cheeks are a little hollow, but it’s nothing a couple of weeks of adequate nutrition and sleep shouldn’t fix, and for that, I’m grateful.
My gaze catches on the collar of her shirt peeking out from beneath the fluffy blankets resting over her chest. Warmth flows through my belly at seeing her in my shirt; even after the week she’s had, she’s still kept me close.
Maybe she’s needed me as badly as I’ve needed her.
I wrap my arms around her, bury my face in her neck, and sag in relief as she exhales a long, steady breath, winding her arms around my waist and giving in to everything I think we’ve both needed.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
It feelslike my soul has been cracked open and laid out for this frustratingly handsome, and unfortunately very perceptive, man to bear witness to.
“Elijah,” I whisper, helpless. “Why are we in a pillow fort?” My chin quivers with the need to break down again, but I’d promised myself days ago that I wouldn’t let another tear fall.
He readjusts us, cupping my jaw and cheek in his large palm, tilting my head back to look into his eyes. They’re soft, the colour of lush grass on a warm spring morning in a faraway land, unlike Embershire, where the sun shines so scarcely. I want to fall into them and let them carry me away to a place so much warmer and safer than the one inside my own mind.
“I have a hunch there’s more going on with you than losing Archie,” he whispers, and just hearing his name makes my chest ache. “And until you're ready to share that with me, so we canwork it out together, we’re going to hide in here, where no one and nothing can hurt us. We’re going to play pretend and act as if our problems don’t exist. And when you’re ready to face your demons, I’ll be right here, holding you through it.”
I shudder against him, my breath seizing in my lungs.
“Pretend with me, Adhira,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. “Let yourself fall apart, and know that I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces of yourself when you’re done. And when we leave the quiet comfort of this make-believe place, you can leave those buried feelings in here too.”
As he utters his last words, they’re like a knife to my soul, and everything spills out. I cling to him, tearing down all my walls, allowing myself to feel every painful thing I’ve shoved deep into the recesses of my mind for months, trusting Elijah to help me find my way back to the surface when I’m done.
I cry for Badal. For a life torn away at only nine years old by an illness he never knew he had.
I cry for my father. For the child he lost, created in his likeness, who shared his features, and when he passed, his bright smile was stolen from them both.
I cry for my mother. For the son she couldn’t mourn, left at home to care for me and to act as both mother and father in place of a man who was just doing the best he could beneath his mountain of grief.
I cry for Elise. For the mother she lost, the years she spent drowning in guilt for not being there for her, the times she nearly gave up on her dreams because they were painful reminders of the choice she and her father made—one that ended in so much more heartache than they’d been prepared for.
I cry for Chelsea. For the father stolen from her, for the fear that her future might mirror his fate, and for the years of her childhood lost while she cared for her siblings as her mother lost herself in her grief.
I cry for Letty. For her unwavering strength despite the years of emotional and physical pain, and for the choice she made that she fears judgment for.
I cry for Elijah. For the father who left him, teaching him that he was only worth having around if he was making money or cleaning up his father’s messes. My entire being aches for the boy who grew up with a man who never treated him as his own, who risked his family's livelihood for cheap thrills and gave in to an addiction I desperately wish he’d sought help for so he could have known the incredible man who rose from the ashes despite him.
My tears wash away the festering memories I’d thought long dormant.
