Page 40 of Redeem

“I always knew,” she said.

“Knew what?” I asked.

Speaking was difficult, especially as I considered the consequences of what I had done to her, how I had hurt her in ways I had never even contemplated.

“That we were always alone. I let myself forget it, though. Thought that maybe I could do something to make it not so,” she said. “Turned out I was wrong.”

She laughed, but the sound held no humor and instead brimmed with pain. I wanted to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

“That’s why you’re here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

It made sense now, why she was out here, had shut herself off. She didn’t want to risk getting close to someone, didn’t want to risk the hurt of losing them. I kept my breath steady, but my heart was pounding, my skin burning with the guilt that was near crushing. This felt so wrong, having her open up to me like this, whisper what I knew were her unspoken secrets.

Trusting me enough to do so.

The fact that she trusted me so much left me with no other choice than to betray it.

She had been looking off into the distance, but now she slammed her eyes shut. I needed to tell her, had to do it now. I couldn’t let her live another moment thinking that she was alone, with the unspoken thought that she was to blame for it.

That was the cruelest thing of all about this. Dana couldn’t see it, didn’t know that she was so much stronger than she gave herself credit for, but I would try to make her see it. Hope that when she did, it would be enough to sustain her through what would come next.

“Tell me about your husband,” I said.

“No,” she replied.

Her voice was firm, would have probably scared most people off.

Not me.

“Tell me,” I said.

“You don’t think this is a little awkward, fucked up even?”

“What?” I asked.

I ignored the anger that radiated off her, held her when she tried to push away.

“You want to talk about my husband, now?” she asked, looking down at where she lay with one of her legs between mine, the thin sheet that covered us only emphasizing the nakedness underneath.

“Yes, it’s awkward, fucked up, even. But I want to know,” I said.

“Why?” she asked, her voice rising.

“Because he mattered to you, and you matter to me,” I replied.

Her expression, which had gone intense with anger, softened. She shook her head.

“How the fuck do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?” I responded.

“Say off-the-wall shit that’s so sweet it makes me do something I know is foolish?”

She added a tentative smile to the end of her words, though her exasperation shined through.

“I should be asking you the same question,” I said.

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