Page 73 of When The Rain Falls

“Do you also not have the energy for Vivian and Ruby? Is that why you just disappeared on them?” My question is pointed. A dig. And it makes him bristle.

“Aimee, go the fuck home,” he sighs.

The command stings. Like a tiny whiplash across my heart. But I don’t move. Because he’s clearly hurting and I have a feeling that he could use a companion. I’ve noticed this about him. He gives in fully to his feelings. To sadness. Anger. He lets it swallow him whole. I, on the other hand, am always running from mine.

“Bear, did something happen? With Ruby? Are you ok?”

"Did something happen…" Finn repeats the words, pure malice ripping through his voice. “That’s a fucking question. A lot of somethings happened.”

“You want to talk about it?”

His hard eyes, grey and disturbed, tell me no.

The music, which is apparently coming from Finn’s phone, reaches a dramatic high point. A powerful voice holds a long, steady note. I let it lure me in.

“Ok, then.” I move on. “Want to tell me what we’re listening to?” Perhaps if I get him talking about something else, I can distract him. Distractions always work for me.

“My wedding song.”

His answer hits me surprisingly hard. He’s thinking about her again. Does she always live in his head? I recall the young people in the photograph. I imagine them dancing. Smiling. Giant grins. Soft touches. Foreheads pressed together. She must have been so special. To leave such a lasting imprint on him. Could I ever leave an imprint on someone? How do you know when you have?

“You think about her a lot,” I observe. As my statement comes out, I realize it might sound harsh or even critical. I try to soften it a bit. “I’ve never really lost anyone I’ve loved. I don’tknow what that’s like.” It almost hurts to confess this. But not as much as the next truth to come bearing down on me. I’ve never lost anyone I’ve loved because I’ve never loved.Period.

He grabs a lungful of night air and massages the palm of one hand. “Is every day a lot?” He drops his head slightly. “Is there even a normal amount?” He takes a ragged breath. “It’s usually just little things. Realizing I haven’t bought cream cheese in years because she was the only one who liked bagels. Or when I put her favorite mug in the cupboard when I’m unloading the dishes.” He pauses and picks at his palm. “The other day, when you went into my closet,” he adds, “you were the first woman to be in there since her.”

I can’t help but wonder what other little things he thinks about her when we’re together. It must be hard to go about your life constantly haunted by memories.

“And then sometimes it’s the heavier stuff. The crushing stuff. And it’s hard to breathe. And for a second, life kinda pauses. I mean, more like, it continues around me. I’m the one who’s paused. Like I’m stuck.”

As he shares this, the moment grows fragile. Like he just tipped himself upside down. Emptied his heart on my lap. I can’t help but want to wrap it up in something protective. To take care of it.

A calm settles over Finn as he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm. I lean against him and run my fingers up the corded muscles of his back. The scent of him coaxes me closer. He presses our knees together and my body heats.

We just sit there for a moment. In silence. Absentmindedly, I trace a stretch mark on my leg. I run my finger along the smooth, silver line and wonder. If your skin stretches when your body grows too quickly, what happens when your heart does the same? Does it also leave a mark? Because it feels like my heart is expanding at the intimacy of this quiet moment.

His gaze falls on mine and our eyes meet. I watch the grey pools of his irises turning soft with pain. I want to remove it. Cover it. Make it go away. So, I loop my arms around his neck in a hug. He doesn’t react at first, but then he wraps me up in him. I feel enveloped in his hard muscles and his soft breath. He slides a hand up my back and cradles my head.

“Is there anything that makes you feel unstuck?” I nuzzle my head against his chest. The question is almost automatic. It’s what I do. What I’ve done my whole life. Always look for the most direct route out of discomfort.

His face falls to the crook of my neck. “You make me feel unstuck,” is his soft reply. “You,” he continues. “Watching you. Shining so bright. In the middle of a fucking thunderstorm.” His words pour into my chest. I fill my very lungs with them. I feel like I could hold my breath and still survive for days, off those words alone. “Except the thunderstorm is my goddamn life. And it doesn’t ever end.”

When he plants a kiss at the base of my neck, it warms my entire body. I like the idea that I can be something for somebody. Especially for him. But then the truth twists my stomach. What he said about me isn't true. I’m not always bright. Not really. Some of my smiles are lies. Lies to hide how hollow I feel.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m just faking it,” I finally confess.

“You’re not faking it,” he assures me, not just with his words but with the softness in his eyes. “I see you, Aimee. And you’re not faking it. You’re brightness to your core. There’s nothing wrong with being unhappy once in a while. That doesn’t mean you’re faking it.” He brushes his jaw against my face. The faint touch of his lips finds its way against the apple of my cheek. “Just don’t go making it a goddamn habit, like I do.”

“It’s hard to feel bright. Not when you don’t feel…” My voice trails off because my throat is growing thick as it forms around the word.

“Tell me,” he urges. “What don’t you feel?” His thumb flicks lightly across my waist.

“Wanted.” The truth slips out. It just slips out so easily with him. I pull away so I can rest my gaze in the comfort of his familiar stormy eyes. Emboldened by my confession, I keep going, “by anyone. By someone. For more than just a night.”

Finn’s fingers suddenly dig into my skin. A growl rolls around in the back of his throat. “You never felt wanted, Aimee?” I can almost hear his control snapping, like a taut rubber band. “You been with all those fuckingJacks. More than you can count. And they’ve never made you feel wanted?” His breath is hot on my face now.

“Goddamn fuckers.” His attention falls down my chest. It falls heavily over my body. It takes in my curves, laps at the hem of my shorts. His thick lips twitch as he scours me.

He sighs. He looks hesitant and then he finally says, “What ifIwanted you?” He continues, his voice practically a whisper, “What if …” He struggles over the words. “Aimee, when I look at you, I see fire. I see something bold and spirited. And, fuck, I want it. I wantyou.” His confession and his quickening breath makes me prickle with excitement.

---