Page 45 of The Two of Us

Ambrose grabs my arm firmly. “Mouse, stop.”

I yank it away too hard and it collides with the wall behind me. I curse under my breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“What are you so afraid of? You know she’d love it if you visited her.”

“Oh really? Did she tell you that?” I hiss.

Ambrose flinches as if I’ve smacked him.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

We stare at each other in the dark. Two broken people trapped between four walls that look shiny and new.

“I’m not ready to see her, Ambrose,” I whisper. “Not like that.”

He wants to push me. He wants to push me and a small part of me wants to be pushed. But I know myself well enough to know that if he pushes me right now, I’ll hit the road running. It’s in my blood.

Instead, he reaches behind his head, flipping a switch I hadn’t noticed. The inside of the tree house is flooded in warm amber from the firefly lights woven intricately across the ceiling.

He lifts his chin toward the entrance and there’s not a trace of anger when he says, “So you can see where you’re going.”

I begin making my way out the way we came. “Why didn’t you have those lights on the whole time?” I grumble.

His warm breath curls around my ears. “Some things are easier to say in the dark.”

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