Page 171 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
His voice rumbles low. “Hungry?”
I start to nod. But the thought of food curls my stomach.
“Not really.” The thought of food makes my stomach clench with familiar nausea that’s been my constant companion since—when?
Since the rescue?
Since Hank died?
Since some point when grief settled into my body and decided to stay.
“Everything still tastes wrong.”
“You need to eat something. You’ve lost weight.”
“I know.”
My clothes fit differently.
My energy levels remain consistently low despite getting adequate sleep. Even coffee tastes off most mornings.
“I just can’t seem to keep anything down. Grief, probably. Stress.”
“Maybe we should see someone. Doctor. Counselor. Someone who knows about trauma and appetite and?—”
“I’m fine.” The lie comes automatically, a defensive response to a concern that feels overwhelming when everything else requires attention. “I just need time.”
But the worried expression on his face suggests time might not be enough.
“Okay,” he says finally. “But if it doesn’t improve…”
“It will.” Another lie, but one we both need to believe right now.
We spend the morning on the deck.
“Remember the first time we brought you here?” Gabe asks, settling beside me on the bench that spans the deck’s width.
“When you and Hank tag-teamed me into agreeing to stay?” I lean against his shoulder, breathing salt air that tastes of home and possibility. “Hard to forget. I was terrified.”
“Of us?”
“Of wanting you both so much it made me stupid.” The confession comes easily. “I miss his laugh,” I say suddenly. “The way he found everything amusing.”
“I miss his coffee. He made the best coffee.”
“I miss the way he smelled after training. Sweat and soap and something that was just—him.”
“I miss his terrible jokes. The dad jokes that made us groan but also made us laugh despite ourselves.”
We trade memories like currency, each recollection both precious and painful, necessary steps in the process of transforming loss into legacy.
“I’m scared.” My admission surprises me, although it shouldn’t.
“Of what?”
“Of forgetting. Of moving on so completely that he becomes just a memory instead of part of who we are.” I turn to meet Gabe’s eyes and see similar fears reflected back. “Of being happy without him and feeling guilty about it.”
“He wants us to be happy.”
