Page 141 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
“I can’t,” he whispers, voice frayed at the edges. “I’m trying so damn hard to want this the way I used to, but—it feels like acting.”
My eyes burn, tears pressing hot behind my lids. Relief and grief twisting together like vines.
“I’m glad you said it,” I murmur against his chest. “Because I was pretending too.”
He exhales a broken sound—half laugh, half sob—and covers his face with both hands. I sit up, pull the sheet over us, and we lie there in a silence that’s finally honest.
Not pretending. Not forcing.
Just being.
“I wanted to feel close to you again,” he says, voice muffled. “I thought if I touched you, it might bring him back.”
I nod, throat too tight to speak.
We stare at the ceiling. The air between us feels less charged now, less full of failure and unmet expectations. Maybe just—understanding.
Grief doesn’t follow a straight line. Sometimes, it loops back on itself. Sometimes, it lies in your bed, naked and aching and too scared to move forward.
I reach for his hand and lace my fingers through his.
“Let’s just sleep.”
His grip tightens.
And for the first time in days, we do.
FORTY-SIX
Finding My Way Back
GABE
The bedroom feelsdifferent in the aftermath. Quieter. Like the ghosts that have been haunting us have finally decided to give us some space to breathe.
Ally sleeps curled against my chest, her breathing deep and even for the first time in days. No nightmares. No restless tossing. Just peace written across features that have carried too much pain lately.
I can’t sleep. Too much adrenaline still coursing through my system, too many thoughts circling like vultures in my head. But for the first time since Hank died, they’re not all dark thoughts.
We did it. We actually fucking did it. Made love without him and didn’t fall apart. Didn’t discover that everything between us was just proximity to his light. Found something that’s ours—different from what we had before, maybe sadder, but definitely real.
Her hand rests over my heart, fingers splayed across skin she’s marked with her nails. The sting feels good. Feels like proof that I’m still capable of feeling something other than grief.
“Can’t sleep?” Her voice comes soft and drowsy, eyes still closed.
“Thinking.”
“About?”
“About how that didn’t feel like betrayal.”
She shifts against me, tilting her head to meet my eyes. “What did it feel like?”
“Like coming home.” I consider the question, searching for words that fit the tangle of emotions in my chest. “Like remembering who I am when I’m not drowning in guilt.”
“Who are you when you’re not drowning?”
“Yours.” The word slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest. “I’m yours, Ally. I always have been.”
