“Don’t try to analyze him. Believe me, I’ve tried to understand the guy, and I?—”
“Gave up?”
“Accepted.”
“Is there a difference?”
“A big motherfucking one,” he says. “Giving up means you stop trying. Accepting means you stop pretending the cracks aren’t there and you learn to walk around them without getting cut.”
I swirl the tequila, watching the light catch the liquid like it’s trying to warn me. So, I want to be the one who gets close to Reth’s broken parts? Do I want to reach him, understand him, maybe even keep him?
The thought makes my stomach twist—half fear, half something warmer and far more dangerous.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”
“Nothing.” Ian shrugs one shoulder, but there’s weight behind it. “Some people you fix. Some people you just stand next to so they don’t have to stand alone. Reth’s the second kind. Always has been.” He slants a brow. “And before you ask—no, I don’t know what put the cracks there. He’s never told me. But whatever it was, it didn’t just break him. It made him the kind of man who’d burn the world down before he lets it touch someone he decided matters.”
The words settle heavily, and I take the shot to get rid of the edge. It burns, but not as much as the quiet realization that I might already be one of the people he decided matters. Do I even want to be?
Ian watches me for a beat, then gives a small, crooked smile. “You’re thinking too loud again. Dangerous habit in this house.”
I let out a shaky breath that’s almost a laugh. “Tell me about it.”
I watch Ian, and he lets me, which is different from Reth. Reth receives being watched like it costs him something. Ian just sits in it. Unbothered. Like being read is fine because there’s nothing in him he’s ashamed of finding.
“Do you think he’s going to let me go?” I ask softly, not sure whether it’s hope or fear that makes the words shake on my tongue.
Ian goes quiet. Not the deflecting kind. The kind where someone is actually deciding something. “I think—” He stops. Tries again. “I think Reth does what Reth does and nobody—including Reth—fully understands why until after.”
I take another shot. The tequila burns down my throat, and I sit with that. The mountains don’t have anything to say about it. Neither does Ian. And the worst part is the small, pathetic voice in my head whisperingmaybe he’ll come back for me. Like I’m some damsel waiting for rescue instead of the woman who should be planning her escape.
After a while, Ian stands but then takes my chin between his fingers, tilting my head back until I’m looking up at him. His green eyes are serious in a way the rest of him hasn’t been all day. “You gotta trust him.”
“How do I trust someone I don’t know?”
He lets go. Steps back. “By paying attention to what hedoes. Not what he says.” A beat. “Or doesn’t say.”
He picks up the tequila bottle and heads for the door, then stops. “You might not know him.” His voice is different now. Quieter. Like he’s leaving something behind that he won’t take back. “But he’s been taking care of you for longer than you know.”
Then he’s gone, his footsteps fading down the hallway, the seasons room settling back into its particular quiet.
I sit with the seasons and the tequila warmth in my chest and the specific, unsettling weight of those words.
Longer than you know.
May 1st, 2023
Sometimes I imagine someone watching over me.
Not in a creepy way. In a ‘you’re not alone’ way. Like even when I’m asleep, someone would notice if I stopped breathing.
Someone who knows my routines not because I told them, but because they paid attention. Who knows I take my coffee too sweet and that I always forget my keys and that I cry at things that aren’t even sad.
I think that’s what I actually want.
Not grand gestures.
Just someone who sees the small things and decides to stay anyway.
