They said their good-byes to the others and were on the way to his place a few minutes later. Around the fringes of his mind, the darkness hovered, threatening to swoop in and drag him down. It had happened too many times before for Gavin not to recognize the signs of impending trouble.
He was thankful for Ella’s presence and regretful, too. He’d meant it when he said he didn’t want her to see his darkness, but the thought of sharing the burden, of not having to go it alone any longer . . . Her offer was too tantalizing to resist, and that made him feel like a world-class bastard.
*
Ella had felt it happen. Standing beside Gavin while Cindy shared her heartbreaking memories, Ella had been immediately aware of the tension that invaded him, the stiffness to his body, the change in his breathing. She’d been about to get him out of there when he released her hand and made the move on his own.
She wasn’t entirely sure she was doing the right thing by encouraging him to talk about the event that had triggered his reaction tonight. Too bad she couldn’t consult with Hannah, but her sister was still at the party and Gavin . . . He was pouring himself a fortifying drink of amber-colored liquor.
Raising the bottle in her direction, he silently asked if she wanted a drink.
Ella nodded. She needed the fortification as much as he did.
Bringing two glasses, Gavin joined her on the sofa. He’d stoked up the fire in his woodstove, and the room was warm and cozy.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Ella said.
Swirling the liquid around in his glass, he watched it closely. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone.”
His confession took her breath away. “Ever?”
He shook his head. “Of course my parents and Hannah and I have talked about funny memories and we’ve paid tribute on anniversaries, the annual road race and now the inn. But I’ve never talked to anyone about what losing him did to me.” He finally looked at her. “Except for you. That day at Homer’s funeral, when we were on the porch swing . . . That was a first for me. I thought you should know that.”
Ella couldn’t have spoken if she had to. She reached for his free hand and cradled it between her hands.
“I suppose it’s obvious to everyone that it wrecked me because of the way I’ve acted at times. I’m not proud of that, but I’ve learned there’s no rhyme or reason when something like this happens. Grief affects everyone differently.” After a long pause, Gavin said, “I’ve been thinking over the last few days that if we’re going to do this, really do it the right way, you should know what you’re getting. And what happened tonight . . . I guess that just proved that I’m not as far along in this process as I ought to be by now.”
“I want to know, Gavin. If we share the load it won’t be so heavy for you to carry alone. And there’s no timetable. No one is holding up a stopwatch and timing how long it takes you to get over your brother’s death. I’m certainly not doing that. I fully expect that you’ll never completely get over it.”
“You’re so sweet.” He put down his glass and ran his thumb over her jaw. “So strong and capable. I’m afraid of using your strength as a crutch.”
“It’s not a crutch if it’s freely given.”