Page 57 of A Not So Merry Rescue
At this point, I’m not even questioning why I’m bending over backward for her.
With a mug of hot cocoa in her hands, Willa sits in the corner of the couch, her legs scrunched up, her torso folded over them. I can’t imagine this will be easy for her, and even before I know what she’s going to say, I’m proud she’s not backing down.
She totally could. I didn’t give her much of a choice in the matter, but if she was extremely opposed to talking about it, all she’d have to do was say the word and I’d shut it down.
Cue the pussy-whipped jokes. And she’s not even someone I’m dating or in a relationship with.
“Remember when I told you there was a guy?”
“Yep.” Asshole for leaving her. Though it gave me a chanceto spend time with her, and these past few days have been great. I wasn’t kidding when I said she’d move to the top of my list of one-night stands. And that was before we had sex. Now that I’ve had her? No other on the list holds a candle to her.
She sucks in a breath, releasing it slowly, deliberately, stalling for time. I scooch closer to her but leave the decision of where she wants me up to her. She reaches one hand out, and I entwine our fingers.
“He didn’t leave me because our relationship didn’t work out.” She pauses, and I allow her words to sink in, processing them without reacting.
“I’m not sure I’m following. You’re not with him still?”
“No.”
“But it’s not because your relationship ended. What else is there?” My black-and-white brain is having trouble making sense of her statement.
“He died. On Christmas.”
“Oh, shit.”
I’m not sure which part is worse, but man does it explain her behavior and her hatred of the holiday. I can see how something like that would put a huge damper on the joy of the season.
Right about now, I’m super delighted I didn’t push the issue past that first night. I also understand why she didn’t tell me. Why she never would have told me except for her breakdown.
“I’m so sorry, Willa. Can I ask how?”
She stares into the fire, almost as if she didn’t hear my question. My brain whirls with what could have happened.
Was he sick?
Was he killed?
Was he murdered?
Okay, the last one is highly unlikely, but I won’t eliminate the possibility. I also won’t prod until she’s ready to explain.
I work her onto my lap, her body still tucked into a ball. She doesn’t fight me, and I’m glad I give her whatever comfort sheneeds. My hand rubs circles on her back, letting her know to take her time, but I’m here. For whatever she needs, I’m here.
“It was early Christmas morning. He was a runner and training for a marathon in January. We lived in North Carolina then, and the weather was mild, ‘perfect running weather’ according to him. He hated missing a day of training. While I supported his training, I urged him to go out early, before breakfast, so it wouldn’t interfere with our celebration. He agreed, but on the condition I could only write while he was gone. If he had to be present for the entire day, so did I.” She laughs, but it’s devoid of humor. “When I wrote, I could get lost for hours. Forget to eat. Forget the outside world existed. If there was one bone of contention in our relationship, that was it. That’s not to say he didn’t champion my writing and my career. Elias was my biggest cheerleader, advocate, and fan. But not on Christmas. If I wanted to get lost in my world on Christmas, it was while he was gone.”
“Seems like a suitable compromise to me, a win-win for both of you.”
“Totally.” She pauses, moving her head to a different spot on my chest, directly above my heart. I’m eager to hear the rest of her story, but I don’t want to rush her. “Except I got so caught up in my story, I lost track of time. Before I realized, three hours had passed, and he wasn’t back yet. He’d told me when he left it wouldn’t be a long run. An hour at most.” She pauses again, sighing deeply before she delves back in. “When I discovered I hadn’t checked my phone in all that time, a bad feeling niggled in. I didn’t know then, but it was the time he took his last breath. He was saying goodbye.”
My heart about cracks in my chest, and my arms squeeze her tighter on their own. It’s like I’m experiencing it with her for the first time. Her realization is heart-wrenching and guttural, even years after the fact.
“How long has he been gone?” I venture to ask.
“It’ll be two years this Christmas.” Even saying the word is painful. Now I understand why.
Jeez. No wonder the girl needed an escape.
She peeks at me. “My phone was blowing up with calls from the hospital, but I missed them all. Too stuck in my own damn head. I didn’t even get to say go-goodbye.” She chokes the last word out, the memory still raw.
