Page 15 of The Space Between
He doesn’t answer right away. Then he snaps, “It was my fault. I was driving. I couldn’t get to them.”
My eyes burn and my throat is thick as I shake my head, “No, Gruene. It was anaccident.It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t cause the rain. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
His eyes burn into mine. His jaw is clenched. His nostrils are white. He spits out, “Everyone says that. But itwasmy fault. I was behind the wheel. I caused it. I’m alive and they’re not.”
“Gruene… that’s too much. It’s too much to carry, and it’s just not true.” I quietly say.
He turns his head, finally looking at me. His eyes are burning with self-loathing and regret. Filled with pain and anguish.
It hits me like lightning.
We’re both standing in the wreckage of something that wasn’t our fault, blaming ourselves for allowing shit to happen, but we didn’t. Shit happenedtous. It didn’t happenbecauseof us. But we’re stillstanding.
That has to count for something.
“I don’t know how to be around people anymore,” he mutters quietly.
A sad smile crosses my lips. “Same. But here we are.”
He looks down at me, and I look up at him, both of us confused and conflicted. He says, “I don’t know what this is.” Grabbing the back of his neck, he squeezes. “I wish you’d never come here. But I’m glad you did. I don’t know what’s next…”
“Me either.” I mutter.
“I don’t know if I want whatever this is. I don’t know if I’m ready or deserving.” His voice is cautious, reflective, but underneath it… I hear the possibility.
Me either.
“Okay.” I reply.
He looks at me, and for the first time, I see it.
Not just grief. Not just guilt.Need.And it matches mine.
Exactly.
Gruene
What the hellam I doing?
I just bared my soul, and it’s the closest I’ve come to a confession in six years.
She’s sitting next to me on the dock with sunscreen on her legs and her hair tied in a lazy knot. Her fingers are wrapped around mine like it’s the most natural thing in the fucking world.
Like I didn’t just open a vein and spill the ugliest part of my soul onto the wood between us.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t cry. She justholds on. That’s what undoes me. Because no one holds on anymore.
Not to me. Not since the funerals. Not since the wreck. Not since I came to, alone on the riverbank, and watched my whole world turned upside down under the surface of that green water, uncaring of the life I was supposed to keep them safe in.
I haven’t touched anyone inyears. Haven’twantedto. Not until now. Not until her. And I still don’t know if I deserve to.
The morning movesaround us slowly, but we stay on the dock like time can’t quite find us here. I have time before I open, so I let her ask questions. They aren’t invasive. She’s careful. She asks quietly, wanting real answers.
What was Molly like?
What did Aubree love?
What’s the scariest part of being alone?
