Page 42 of Wrap Around
I feel the pain now, though. Acutely. And it's not just in my knees. It's in my soul.
The room is too small, the walls too close. Getting closer. Smaller. Suffocating.
I need to get out.
With just enough awareness not to bust through the door and wake the whole house, I leave the guest room. I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water and gulp it down. Filling my hands with cold water, I splash my face and rubmy wet hands through my hair and along the back of my neck. I consider going outside and laying down in the snow, but I at least have the presence of mind not to be an idiot. Instead I press my forehead to the window and watch the glass fog. The visualization of my breath moving in and out helps me tamp down some of my rising panic.
"Gideon?"
CHAPTER 17
SILAS
I find Gideon leaning on the kitchen window, breathing heavily.
"Gideon?"
He startles and flinches, turning and pressing his back to the glass and regarding me with a wide, wary expression.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he says shortly. But it's clear he isn't. He looks sickly, pale and sweaty and his eyes are bloodshot. His hair and shirt are drenched. "Too much wine, I think."
Ah. That makes sense.
"Want some water?"
"Oh—Um, yeah. Sure."
There's a glass on the side of the sink that wasn't there when we went to bed. By the droplets of water still rolling down the sides, I'm assuming he's already had a glass or two. I fill his glass with ice and filtered water from the fridge, hoping the colder water will help soothe him.
"Thanks," he murmurs. His fingers brush mine when he takes the glass from me. I pretend not to notice, but the contrast of body heat makes me wonder if I should take his temperature.
I don't think he's sick, exactly. He looks anguished. I'd heard him pacing around in his room, and before that, I heard what I thought was talking. I think he might have had a nightmare, which I can relate to. I have them from time to time, especially if I'm overtired or very stressed. Which is quite often lately.
"Want to talk about it?"
"What is there to talk about?" he snaps.
Ooohhkay, so we're not going to talk about it, then. Part of me wonders if I should force the conversation, but he looks ready to snap, and I don't want to wake up Lily or Addy. I don't want them to worry, but I also don't want them to have to see Gideon this way. This is for my eyes only. It's my punishment, because it's what I did to him.
But I can't keep quiet for long. Gideon finishes his glass of water, then moves past me to put his glass in the sink. I turn my body towards him like a plant seeking the sunlight, my feet instinctively moving closer to him. When he turns from the sink, we're only inches apart. I can feel his breath on my face.
"Please, Gideon. Just listen–"
"Don't do this to me, Silas." The anguish in his voice and raw pain in his eyes cuts me off, makes me pause. "I'm not strong enough." Those last words come out in a voice so small, so unlike the larger-than-life man in front of me, it causes me physical pain.
"You don't have to be strong." I tell him, begging him with my eyes not to push me away.
He leans into my space, until I can feel the warmth of his lipsagainst mine. "Don't," he whispers, close enough that I can feel the movement of the one word.
My eyes flutter shut. He doesn't kiss me, or press into me, or really do anything. All I feel is his slow exhale.
And then he's gone. Before I can even think to open my eyes, the air around me is cold again.
Christmas morning is beautiful. Adaline's shriek of joy when she sees the little balance bike we got her almost makes me tear up, but the look on her face when she sees the playhouse is something else. I understand the magic of the holiday for the first time in my life.
She has a tiny meltdown when we have to force her into warmer clothes before she goes outside to play, but only because she's so excited her toddler mind can't process. The moment we set her loose in her boots, puffy jacket, and winter hat, she's the happiest child on earth. We might never get her to come inside.
