Page 44 of Saving Her Heart
"No." Her voice is small, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Wanna go into the living room?"
"Yeah."
We migrate to the couch, both wrapped in blankets, careful to maintain space between us. The city lights filter through the blinds I pulled earlier, casting shadows that make everything feel surreal.
"I keep thinking about the text I got," she says. "Tomorrow everything burns. What if?—"
"We have people watching all the buildings. The fire department's on alert. Nothing's going to burn."
"You can't guarantee that."
"I can try."
She pulls her knees to her chest, making herself smaller. "When I was eight, there was a fire in our apartment building. Not Hibiscus Harbor—we lived in Tampa then."
I turn to face her. She's never talked about her childhood before everything with her grandmother.
"My mom was passed out drunk. Again. I tried to wake her up when the smoke alarms went off, but..." She shrugs. "The firefighters got us out. But I remember standing on the sidewalk, watching our apartment burn, knowing all our things were gone. My stuffed animals, my books, the pictures of my dad before he left."
"Kendall..."
"My mom blamed me. Said I must have left something on, started it somehow. The fire department said it was electrical, but she needed someone to blame." She laughs bitterly. "She was good at that. Making everything my fault."
"That's why you have the rules," I say, understanding dawning on me. "Control what you can?—"
"Because I couldn't control her drinking. I couldn't control my dad abandoning us. Couldn't control the fire." She looks at me. "Couldn't control your leaving either."
The words land like a punch to my chest. "I'm sorry."
"I know. And I know why you left now. Your dad, the cancer. But back then, all I knew was that everyone I loved eventually left. My dad when I was five. My mom, in every way that mattered, by the time I was seven, I was basically alone. Then you."
"Your grandmother didn't leave."
"No. She saved me. Took me in when child services finally caught up with my mom. Gave me stability, rules, structure." She smiles sadly. "Maybe there are too many rules."
"Your rules kept you safe."
"My rules kept me alone." She shifts, facing me fully. "Do you know why I really haven't dated since you? Not seriously?"
"The accountant?—"
"Lasted two weeks because I compared him to you constantly. Everyone since has been the same. They're not you, so what's the point?"
My heart stops. "Kendall?—"
"I tried so hard to hate you. To use that anger as armor. But then you showed up with that stupid goat, breaking all your precious regulations to help Mrs. Parsons, and I realized something."
"What?"
"I never stopped loving you. I just got really good at pretending I did."
The words hang between us, raw and honest and terrifying.
"I never stopped either," I admit. "Every woman I dated, I was trying to find you in them. The way you laugh. That little crinkle you get beside your eyes when you're really smiling. How you hum when you're concentrating." I reach out, not quite touching her. "I've been comparing everyone to a ghost for years."
"We're idiots," she says, but she's crying.
