Page 147 of Unexpected Heroine

Vengeance.

Shaking it off, I march into the bathroom to grab her medication and contact lenses. As I approach her, she’s bent over the bed, wrestling with the overflowing duffel bag. Frantically, she tries to force the contents in.

For a moment, I pause to study her.

There’s something familiar in her struggle. Not merely because it’s my Lettie, my room, or a bag I’ve seen before. That’s not what I mean. It’s not physically familiar. There’s more to it than that.

Each time she tries to close it, a piece of fabric gets stuck in the zipper. A shirt. Pant leg. Whatever. Stubborn as always, she keeps trying. After picking up the bag, she drops it a few times on the bed to settle the contents. Still the zipper won’t budge. No matter what she does, she can’t close it.

The bag is full. It’s had enough.

It isn’t ever-expanding. The fabric can only stretch so far. It has limits.

Same as her love for me.

Her heart’s capacity for forgiveness was stretched and strained. Until it ripped. Shredded.

Broken.

Blinking clear of my rumination, I reroute my steps to the closet to grab one of my bags off the top shelf.

When I return to her side, I hold out the bag. “Here, sugar bear. Use this.” My voice is flat, quiet, and monotone—the old me having taken over.

Her movements cease. Except for the tic of her jaw and the side-eye she shoots me. After a heavy pause, she juts her chin. “No, thank you. I don’t want anything from you.”

No one ever wants something from me until they need it.

“It’s just a bag.”

She bawls up her fist and pounds the inside of the duffel harder. “I said no thank you.”

I’m going to miss those fucking manners.

Then again, what won’t I miss about her?

When she resumes trying to force the bag to submit to her will, I encircle her forearm and tug gently. “Like you, Lettie, that bag has had all it can stand.”

Her eyes snap shut, and her shoulders roll forward. After dropping the bag, she catches her face in her hands and sobs. Slipping from my grasp, my offered bag falls to the bed and lands beside hers. My hands reach out as if they’re compelled to comfort her.

I stop myself. She doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want me. I’ll only make it worse. Hurt her more.

You ruin everything you touch, boy.

Taking a step backward, I force my fists to my sides.

And I stand there.

Aching to comfort her. Or myself. I resist because I’m not what she needs. And I don’t deserve her comfort anyhow.

Her sobs get louder, her shoulders shaking as she wails into her hands.

The seconds tick by. Should I get Stella or Freya? Let them be here for her?

I count to five, hoping she stops soon.

Letting her cry like this goes against every fiber of my being. All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect her. Make her happy. Safe. Take care of her. Soothe her.

That’s why I pulled into that fucking gas station.

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