Page 14 of The Space Between
“You good?” He asks, really looking at me.
I’m a little unnerved, but I nod.
His eyes narrow as though he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t say anything.
I wouldn’t either. I don’t.
Swallowing, I force myself to breathe evenly. Not because I’m scared of him. I’m not. That alone should scare me. It doesn’t. But because everything about him affects me.That’swhat’s terrifying.
He settles beside me on the edge of the towel, close, but not touching. The air between us crackles like it did last night, but softer now. Warmer.
“You sleep?” he asks.
I nod. “Eventually.”
“I’m sorry… that I just left.” He’s staring at the water as though trying to decode the secrets of the universe within its depths.
I glance at him, my breath catching at his majestic profile. Somehow, I manage to say, “It’s okay. I didn’t know what to say anyway. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“You didn’t.”
I pick at the edge of the towel. “I didn’t sayanything.”
He shrugs. “What would you say?I’m sorry.” He laughs but it’s harsh. “Everyone says that. But why? It’s just a response. You stayed.”
His words crack something open in me I didn’t know was still locked up tight. No one has ever said that to me like itmattered.Like my staying, even in silence, meant something.
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to.” I whisper.
“I did.” His voice is quiet. Rough. Honest.
I turn to face him, our knees almost touching.
He watches me the way he did last night—like he’s afraid of saying too much… or not enough. Like he doesn’t trust his mouth, doesn’t know what to say or even if he wants to say anything, but wants to try anyway.
“I didn’t think I’d ever say it out loud,” he says suddenly.
I blink at him. “Say what?”
“That they’re gone.”
My chest aches as I say, “You don’t—you don’t have to tell me more, Gruene.”
He’s quiet for a long time, then he sighs, still not looking at me. He says, “I want to.”
I hold my breath as he leans back on his palms, his eyes on the early morning horizon. “It was raining. Bad. The rainstorms here can be brutal. I was driving. Molly—my wife—was pissed because we were late. I was trying to make up time on the back roads. Stupid. Fast. Reckless.”
He swallows hard.
“Aubree—my daughter—she was in the backseat. Singing. God, she never shut up. It used to drive me crazy. I’d give anything to hear it again.”
I press my fist to my mouth.
“I hit the curve. The tires slipped on the pavement. I tried to turn into the skid, but it was too late. I screamed. Molly screamed. Aubree cried in fear. We— we went over the guardrail.Into the river.” His voice doesn’t waver. It doesn’t need to. “I remember hitting. I was thrown out. Water was everywhere. The river. The rain. Cold and black andfast.It happened so fast. And then—nothing.”
I reach for him before I realize I’m moving. My fingers close around his. He lets me take his hand. His fist is clenched. His fingers are cold.
“It was an accident. A tragic accident.” I whisper.
