I turn into the strong body that sits next to me, not even caring when his familiar scent of fresh air and laundry soap hits my nose.
This is my moment of weakness; being fragile enough to take comfort from the one man I swore never to turn to again.Arlo.
“Emmerdeur.” The anguish in his voice makes the tears fall harder.
The nickname I haven’t heard in years breaks my heart all over again. His arms wrap around me, his hand rubbing over my back just like he used to do when we were dumb, young kids. It always soothed me then and it does the same now, much to my infuriation.
“Why” —hiccup—“did this happen?” Hiccup.“Why Lennox?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same thing for hours.” The hoarseness of his voice catches me off guard. It’s not that I think he doesn’t care; it’s that I don’t think he cares aboutme. I know his pain is because of Lennox and not me, but it still throws me off enough to pull back from him.
Wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my hoodie, I sit up straight and clear my throat.
Moment of weakness over.
“Emmerdeur…”
“I’m good.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “I’m good, Arlo,” I say, firmer.
“I tried to get him out of there as fast as I could,” he murmurs. There’s that pain in his voice again. It makes me irrationally angry. Mad that he’s making me feel bad for him. Pissed that I’m even taking his feelings into consideration when he’s never done the same for me.
“You did good. He made it here and is stable. That’s all we could ask for.” Putting my hand on his forearm, I attempt to assuage him of his guilt. I’m not sure why I’m trying to console him, but I want him to know that we don’t blame him for any part of this. Tennison is responsible, no one else.
His eyes shift between mine, looking for God knows what, and before I can get my bearings, he leans forward ever so slowly. I can see it all happening in slow motion, and my logical brain is screaming at me to stop it, but I don’t. I watch as he gets closer before he finally presses a kiss to my lips.
My eyes flutter shut with nostalgia. Once upon a time, I thought this man would be my everything. Once upon a time, I thought he was my Prince Charming.
Like a lightning bolt, my body catches up to my brain and I jerk back. I watch as his eyes shutter, the emotion that was so clearly on display now hidden from me. Just like it always is.
“Fuck,” he grinds out, scrubbing his hand over his face.
I give myself one second to revel in the feel of his lips on mine again. To imagine those hands all over my body, and then I shut that shit down.
“Fuck!” he says louder as he stands, his chair shoving back with force. I’m sure if he had longer hair, he would be pulling it right now. That’s how agitated he looks. It’s his own damn fault, though. He’s the one who kissed me. He paces in a little circle before beelining for the door.
The sound of the door clicking shut has a finality about it.
I don’t know what just happened. I don’t know why he followed me in here, comforted me, and then kissed me, but I do know it won’t happen again.
I won’t let it.
I made myself a promise after the haze of grief cleared all those years ago. Both the grief of losing my parents and losing Arlo. I promised myself I would never give my heart to a man again.
I stand by that, but as I bring my fingertips up to my lips, I can still feel the electricity of his touch. How does he still have this much power over me after more than a decade?
My head feels jumbled with too many thoughts and not enough answers. Between the stressful situation with Lennox and still not really knowing the extent of where he’s at mentally, and now fucking Arlo throwing the biggest mixed signal there is, I have no idea where I stand.
Which is not a great place for my head to be. I thrive on having answers, on knowing everything about a given situation. I’m a control freak through and through, born out of necessity and self-preservation.
Leaning forward, pressing the heel of my palms to my eyes, I try to relieve the massive amount of pressure I’m beginning to feel. This is why I don’t cry anymore. I suck back any tears I start to feel because I almost always get an instant migraine. And I can’t afford to have one at this moment. There’s too much going on, and my siblings need me.
That thought reminds me of how distraught Willow was. She probably should be getting looked at too, even if she isn’t physically hurt. She was in that cabin, came face to face with the devil himself. Combine that with whatever is going on with Oakley, and I know she’s losing it right now, even if she’s trying to convince everyone otherwise.
I lift my head up, draw in a deep breath, and count to ten.
Ten seconds to push everything I’m feeling down.
Ten seconds to forget Arlo showed me a glimpse of the man I thought he was.
