My mom and Rob came back several hours later with bags of groceries as I finally emerged from the bedroom. There were a million things to say to Lake, but I didn’t want them coming out as a string of anger. I wasn’t angry with her. I was heartbroken for her. She was lost in an abyss of emotions, but she refused to let a single one go.
“You’re fighting,” my mom whispered in my ear as Rob helped Lake unload the groceries.
“Why do you say that?”
“Lake looks on the verge of crying.”
I frowned. “It’s complicated.”
“We’re flying out in the morning, but if you need me to stay?—”
“No. We have some things to work out and it’s probably best if we do them without an audience.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“I hope not.” I didn’t know what it would take to get Lake to let go of all the shit that cluttered her mind and held her emotions captive.
My mom and Rob went to bed early since they had an early flight. Lake helped me bathe, saying no more than a few words such as “lean forward” and “sit back.” After she helped me into bed, I watched her every move. She sulked between the bathroom and the closet like the whole world rested on her shoulders.
She sat on the bed and removed her leg.
“I’ll play if they clear me.”
She turned. “Don’t do it for me.”
I laughed, because really… I had no other choice. “Don’t quit for you. Don’t play for you. I can’t seem to win.”
She tossed her leg on the floor and slid under the sheets with her back to me. “I don’t want you to do any of it for me. I want you to do it for you. I’ll be happy if you’re happy.”
“I’m happy. I’m happy. I’m happy. Just so… fucking happy.” I laughed again, knowing the sarcasm in it would probably piss her off.
She sat up, whipping her legs around to the side of the bed, sliding on her liner, then snapping on her leg like she was seriously pissed at it. “Wonderful. You just go to sleep and have your happy dreams. I’m going out in the other room. I’m not tired.”
“Lake.”
She took off in a blaze of anger.
I felt like shit. Had my body worked properly she never would have made it out the bedroom door, but I was the tortoise in the race—and far from steady. What felt like three days later, I managed to get to the living room. Lake stood by the window with her back to me. A new round of snow danced in the air, illuminated by the lights lining my drive on both sides.
“Ben died and I lived.” All emotion was stripped from her voice. “Had he not died I would not be with you, and… that feels more tragic than his death. Life is such a mind-fuck. We say what we’re supposed to say, but feel what we’re not supposed to feel. If God really hears my thoughts, then he knows I don’t regret going to breakfast with Ben. He knows I don’t regret Ben dying that morning. He knows I feel like a monster for having those feelings.”
She turned. No tears. No emotion. It broke me to see her pain cut through every nerve, leaving her bleeding out withoutany more feeling.
“And my fear? It’s that in time I won’t regret you playing in that game. I won’t regret not stopping you. I won’t regret you getting injured because the only thing worse than hating God for tragedy that doesn’t make any sense is hating Him for making complete sense of it in time. But the rawest truth is I don’t think he has a damn thing to do with any of it. I think we make sense of it in our own messed-up minds. I think God is the greatest of all scapegoats. And if I choose to believe in him, then I have to acknowledge his greatest love for us is free will.”
Lake shook her head. “Youchose to play.Ichose to sit there and watch. Free will. It’s so damn scary. God’s not a safety net. Living in fear, being guided by it, is a miserable life. It’s me right now. I don’t trust myself—my thoughts, my feelings, my instinct—and it’s like a cancer inside of me.Onetime… one time my gut was right. Do you see how debilitating that is? It may never be right again, but I’ll always live infearthat it could be becauseonetime it was.”
I stepped closer. “You’re afraid of me playing?”
Her eyes trailed up my body, landing on my gaze. “Yes,” she whispered.
I took the final step. My hand ghosted along her shoulder and down her arm, she shivered under my touch. “You’re afraid of menotplaying?”
Tears filled her eyes. My touch made her feel again. I wouldnevertake for granted the visceral effect I had on her. It reaffirmed theonething I knew to be absolute truth in my life—my hands were made to touch her.
“Yes.” She blinked, releasing the tears.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
