Page 30 of The Grief We Hold

The air between us vibrates with tension so strong I swear I could touch it. I need to leave, but I’m desperate to know what it would feel like if one of his large fingers brushed against my skin. What it would feel like if he placed a knuckle beneath my chin and kissed me tenderly.

Or roughly.

I think about the way he grabbed my lip and tugged me to him in the diner storeroom. About how he held me where he wanted me, and I didn’t fight it because a piece of me liked it.

His tongue runs over his lower lip, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am.

My breath catches, and while my brain is screaming at me to take a few steps back, to move out of his orbit, I could no sooner move than two opposing magnets placed next to each other could.

Wraith reaches out his hand toward Fen, but I notice his pinkie finger is hooked. “Hey, Fen. Come here and make a pinkie promise with me.”

“A what…?” I say. Which is ridiculous because I know what a pinkie promise is. I just don’t know why this intimidating biker is offering to make one with my son. “Wait.”

He crouches to eye level with Fen, his pinkie still raised. “You know what a pinkie promise is, kid?”

Fen nods enthusiastically, because unlike me, he seems happy to be around Wraith. “I do.”

“Well, I want to make a pinkie promise with you that you guys will never be expected to repay me for moving the dresser to your home.”

“Never?” Fen asks.

“Never. Not you. Or your mom.”

Fen offers his pinkie, tiny in size compared to Wraith’s. And Wraith shakes it gently. “You got a strong grip,” Wraith says kindly, and Fen soaks up the compliment.

His father always called him weak. Stupid. Pathetic. Berated him for his love of nature and the birds that used to come sit in the garden.

Despite my uncertainty about this man, his kindness to my son thaws some of the ice around my heart.

Wraith stands and looks at me. “Good enough?”

“You and I both know it’s not legally binding.”

Wraith smiles softly, then pulls the ten-dollar bill from his pocket before handing it to Fen. “A man’s only as good as his word. And my word is all I got. Go get Fen a doughnut. The dresser will be outside when you get home.”

I reach for Fen’s hand. “Thank you.”

Wraith tips his head once, then returns to removing the drawers and putting them in his truck.

Walking away is harder than I thought. For a moment, I pretend it’s the risk of someone else deciding to take the dresser from the sidewalk outside the apartment.

But I made a pact with myself when I left, that I wouldn’t lie to myself again.

I won’t ignore warning signs. Or try to convince myself unfixable things will be okay if I just do better or be better or love better.

So, I admit leaving Wraith is the difficulty.

It’s on brand for me that I’m attracted to dangerous, reckless men.

Who wouldn’t be attracted to a large man with wide shoulders and anI can do everythingaura?

His truck drives by us just before we get to the bakery, but there is zero acknowledgement. He doesn’t honk his horn or offer a wave. He just looks straight ahead.

The bakery smells divine. All sugar and cinnamon and fresh bread. It’s comfort food wrapped up in sparkling cake cases and the hiss of a coffee machine.

“What would you like, Fen?”

He places his palms on the glass case to look inside.

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