Page 68 of Hiding from Hope

“Have you tried to go over and see her again?” I press gently, pausing my kisses, but remaining behind her, not willing to leave this closeness, the way her floral scent wraps around my lungs and squeezes my chest.

“I went over on Friday, but Evan said she was sleeping, so I went home. I tried to message her, she didn’t respond. Tried calling her, she won’t answer. I’m avoiding Mom now because I know she wants to talk about Grace, but it feels like a betrayal to talk about Grace when she won’t even talk to me.” Her head falls back against my shoulder, and this time, I see the pain etched into her scrunched brows, and the way her bottom lip drops, her chin quivering, and pain spears me in the chest.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cry, Ace. She really doesn’t deserve your kind heart, you know that, right?” I say gently, gripping her chin and turning her to face me. Her eyes remain scrunched shut, and the further dip of her bottom lip has me turning her fully and burying her in my embrace. Squeezing her like I can squeeze the pain from her. Take all of it, rid her of it.

“She’s my sister,” she whispers between a gentle sob and breath.

“I know, baby. I know,” I say gently back, and at the realization of the pet name that slipped my lips, she goes rigid, pulling out of the embrace and blinking at me rapidly.

“Um.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s fine, really.” She gives me an awkward smile. Wiping at her tears, she waves me off, returning to the sauce, adding the rice to the water. I reluctantly return to the chopping board beside her, not really sure what just happened.

“How…” she clears her throat then tries again, “How come you give me so many names?”

“What?”

“Ace, sunshine, baby?” I shrug at the question, not willing to meet her gaze, but feel it on me.

“Ace came to me when we were kids. I don’t really know why, you just seemed… so good at everything, you know? Like everything you tried, you aced it. Being a friend to my sister, baking, being happy.” My gaze floats to hers, and she only tilts her head to the side in contemplation, so I focus back on the vegetable prep. “Sunshine, well, that one is obvious.” I shrug again.

“Obvious?” she queries, and I feel her disappear behind me to grab something from the fridge.

“Yeah, you are sunshine. You glow.” When I meet her gaze again, a bright pink blush warms her cheeks, and she blinks self-consciously back at the rice pot, the cream she had grabbed placed gently on the counter. The look makes me chuckle, and then she turns an upturned smirk on me, leaning a hip on the counter, giving me her full attention.

“And then you just called me baby. You haven’t called me that one before.” Her tone is laced with playful challenge, like she knows exactly why that had slipped my lips but wants to hear me say it.

To tell her I’ve claimed her as mine and that I’m all in.

Telling her all the feelings that have gripped my chest for the last few weeks, probably longer, that I’ve been too much of a coward to admit to. But when I look into those deep blues, their depths of hope and joy, memories of watching Jenny walk out on me when I had been ready to give her my all burns a path across my heart. The echo of the pain I held the last time I put my heart on the line causes my words to stick in my throat, and I can’t manage to get them out. Instead, I force them back down, swallowing them whole and shrugging.

I say nothing.

And I feel regret cover me, like a blanket of shame.

I feel her retreat. Not physically, but I can feel the way she pulls back. Instead, we continue to prepare dinner in silence.

As she begins to plate it up, I break the silence, like the complete coward that I am. “Where is Rosie tonight?”

“Working late,” she responds with clipped words, but because she is Casey and doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, she still gives me a gentle smile before digging into her food.

Fuck. I run a frustrated hand down my face, scratching at my beard and trying to force myself to eat. Even though I have lost my appetite entirely. I am such an idiot.

“Casey—”

“It’s okay. Anyway, I’m glad you came over tonight.” She rests a hand on my arm, but focuses on eating her dinner.

“You are?” She simply nods and hums an agreement as she chews her food.

“It was a hard day. You make it not so bad.” She smiles again, but it isn’t a real one. It isn’t the sunshine I love, it’s… appeasing. I grumble and pull my hand from her grip. Feeling her burn through my ice is usually a welcoming feeling, but she’s burnt through me almost completely, and every attempt to keep her at any kind of emotional distance only ends with me feeling like a dick. The worst part is that she doesn’t even push me back, like I’d expect any sane person to do. Instead, she lets me push, she takes it, and is just… still fucking there.

Smiling at me. Even if it is fake as fuck. And now I’m frustrated, because even with me, she is continuously being what she believes other people need.

She thinks I’m stuck on unrequited love with a woman on the other side of the world. She thinks I’m in pain and that I’m suffering. That she owes me gentle smiles and soft touches. A few kisses and heated moments to help me work through my pain?

Fuck if that doesn’t make me want to throw her on that counter and demand her to understand that the only woman that has me fucked up is her. That the only unrequited love is the one for her heart. Her smile. That beaming sunshine when she directs it at me.

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