Pride swells in my chest. “I did.” And the son-of-a-bitch deserved it.
“You messed up his face.”
“He was too pretty anyway,” I counter. He needed life to give him a wake-up call.
Her gaze strays to my red knuckles. “How’s your hand?”
I grin. “Never better.”
Ember falls quiet again, the air thick with both of our thoughts. The weight forces a necessary breath from my lungs as I close her door and round the car. Once inside, I buckle up and am about to start the engine when her small voice stops me. Gone is the laughter, replaced by something much heavier.
“I wasn’t pining away for Zack,” she insists, staring out at the dark road. Already, I want another chance at that asshole’s face. “It was just… really hard. He was such a big part of who I was, who I am, and… I couldn’t fathom how to go on without him.” Her words hit close to home and a chill slides across my skin. “When all the cakes and casseroles stopped coming and the doorbell stopped ringing, it was just the four of us.” She pauses, inhaling a deep breath. “And the silence was deafening. I felt like… everyone else kept living. Going on with their lives as if nothing had happened… and I had this gaping hole in my heart.”
Pain rushes from her eyes and my soul feels as if it’s being ripped apart. “The only person who could fill it was the one who was never coming back,” she whispers, and I reach out to grasp her chin, turning her face to mine. “I miss him so much,” she whispers again, tears streaming down, eyes pleading with mine for acknowledgement, understanding. I want to give her whatever she needs—and far beyond that as well.
“Oh, sweetheart.” My thumb brushes back and forth over her skin. “I know how much you were hurting. The kind of hurt there’s no remedy for.” I raise my other hand to cup her cheek, staring hard into her eyes. “It’s okay to let yourself feel that.” She nods on a short intake of breath. “And I understand,” I murmur with a soft smile. “I do.”
I draw her to me then and she presses her face into my chest, sobbing loud, painful bursts of emotion. And I let her give it all to me, so I can carry it for her—as long as she’ll let me.
She pulls back when her sobs turn to soft cries. The quiver of her lip calms and her warm palm finds my cheek. “Somehow I knew you’d understand.”
I cover her hand with my own. “I do understand,” I utter quietly and give her a small smile. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share it with me.”
She nods, letting her hand slide out from underneath mine. A profound sense of loss comes over me and shakes me up, making me lightheaded.
How can you fear losing something that can never be yours?
THE DRIVE BACK to Ember’s house is filled with introspective silence. Though all that changes as I pull into her driveway. The cut of the engine is replaced by muted groans. When I turn to Ember, she has one hand clutched to her belly while the other one holds the side of her head.
“I don’t feel so good all of a sudden.”
“Hang on, Mickey.” I climb out and come around the car, opening her door and leaning inside. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” I instruct, and once she manages to anchor her loose limbs around me, I reach under her knees to scoop her up. She continues to moan softly as I ease her out of the car and carry her to the porch. With one arm keeping her body hoisted, my other hand scrounges in her purse for keys while attempting not to drop her to the ground.
“I might throw up on you if this takes too long,” she mumbles as I fiddle with the key in the lock. The sound of the loud click makes me exhale with relief.
Except for dim light emanating from the kitchen, the house is dark and quiet.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I whisper, not wanting to get caught sneaking around her house. I don’t think this would make for a great introduction to her mom.
She lifts a clumsy finger and points toward the staircase. “Up.”
Every other step creaks as we climb and I slow down, the noise too loud in the dense quiet. Somehow, I’m able to get us to the bathroom; the last room at the end of what seems like a never ending hallway.
A loud gurgle erupts from Ember’s stomach as I push open the door and set her gently on the tile. She springs into action, diving for the toilet bowl and plopping down in front of it. Her limp arms attach to both sides of the cold porcelain, hugging it for dear life. Then she coughs, but it sounds more like gagging. I kneel beside her, holding up her ponytail and soothing her back with my hand.
“I drank too much, t-too quick. I’m drunk.”
I chuckle. “You are.”
“That was s-stupid.” She whines into the toilet.