Page 41 of I Love a Good Challenge

I nod. The words are hard to pull out of my vocal cords, like melted sugar being forced into a shape when the air is cooling all around it. “I guess I owe you that much.” I hate the quiet tone of my voice.

“You owe me nothing.” Graham returns my nod with an incline of his head. He is already standing and walking toward the kitchen with long strides.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been confronted with a more truthful moment—a moment in which I’m not allowed to contradict someone’s feelings because they are entirely their own. Before I can dig deeper into the emotion stirring within me, he’s back with a napkin full of brownie cookies.

“I found them on the counter. May I have some?”

I nod, not willing to tell him I made them for him anyway. After all, I make everything for him.

“I’m going to brew some more tea.” I stand, stretching out my hand to grab his mug for a refill. He sets it gently in my palm, and a flare of heat warms my insides. Even though I’m burning up inside because of his proximity, my hands and feet haven’t gotten the memo yet.

I’ve made it to the doorway of the kitchen when the lights flicker, and I freeze. A few seconds later, they go completely out. Instantly, I’m surrounded by darkness. In an attempt to move toward the cabinet next to the sink with the candles, my foot catches on the edge of the kitchen mat. I release a yell, feeling myself falling before I fully realize what’s happening. I try to brace myself for impact, but my hands are holding the mugs. A sharp pain shoots through my right hand as my knees hit the floor. Thankfully, I don’t hit my head.

“Lily!” Graham yells. I hear him shuffle toward me and recognize the sound of a hand brushing along the wall for guidance.

I’m moaning lightly, trying to feel where I am. There’s at least one piece of ceramic in the pad of my palm. Graham moves cautiously. He pauses, the sound of his breathing heightened in the darkness.

“I’m okay,” I moan. There’s a sharp pain in my right hand, but I don’t sense anything broken.

“Are you hurt?”

I know that I am. “A little.”

“Okay, let me help you,” he says. “I’m reaching my hand toward you. Grab it if you can so I don’t hurt you more in trying to find you.”

I hold out my left hand. The lights should power on just from the electricity that sparks between us as soon as our hands connect. I pull him a little closer as he helps me to my feet. One of his arms wraps protectively around my waist.

“Watch your feet.” My voice is breathy from the shock of his touch and the darkness all around us. “Something is broken.”

“I think the socks will protect me,” he replies dryly, a hint of humor at the edges.

The sound of the rain is a symphony. It lulls me toward him. I inhale sharply when I feel the ridge of his hip as it bumps against my own.

“Lily?”

“Yes?” I reply, not daring to move an inch until we figure out where we are in the space.

“We need to wrap your hand.” His tone is scratchy, the words caught in his throat on the way out.

“Yes, of course.” My heart races, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I’m praying that he can’t feel my pulse jumping with the sensation of his warm fingers wrapped around my wrist.

“Stay close,” I say. I feel something inside breaking at how much I wish I could say those words to him and have them be true.

I extend my good hand—the one not wrapped up in Graham’s—and feel for the drawer near the fridge that holds my lighter. Pulling it open, I rummage around to find it. I keep shuffling along to the cabinet near the sink, reaching under to pull out the candles I’ve stored there.

The clatter of the glass on the counter and the sound of our breathing mix with the storm outside. Even though I’m now bleeding, I’m relieved not to be alone. I’m painfully aware of all the times I’ve cringed in my bed and waited for storms to pass, wishing I had someone to distract me. It’s probably the last thing people would expect of me. I’m confident in so much but terrified of storms. I think I remember mentioning my fear to Graham once.

“I can’t . . . Will you . . .?” It’s shallow, but it feels like such a small thing to ask for his help when I know all that has been shattered between us. But I feel the slick smear of blood on my palm and know we need to act quickly.

“I’ll help you,” he finishes for me. He releases me for a moment. I instantly miss his touch. I hear the click of the lighter, and then the spark of fire casts a glow across his features. He works quickly to light the candles I’ve haphazardly set on the counter. With each new light, a fresh part of his face is illuminated more clearly, and another grows darker in the shadows, accentuating the features that have been carved into my dreams.

My eyes start to burn, and I wish I could take the wasted years back. Every moment without him. The pain I’ve put him through. The pain I’ve put myself through. There’s so much regret, and I’m drowning in it. And here he is, still willing to help me see in the dark.

“I’ll need some bandages.”

“Hall closet,” I direct as he takes a candle and walks off, a tiny circle of light surrounding his every step.

He is back in a flash. Gently, Graham pulls me toward the living room, guiding me to the couch. His hands, so generous and kind, trace my palm, busily cleaning my wound. A much smaller piece of ceramic than I imagined is sticking out of my hand. Graham does his best to distract me.

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