Page 34 of Sustain

“You okay?” she asks, concerned.

“I am tickety-boo, as my Nan used to say.” I force a smile. “That means ‘good.’”

Mackenzie nods and seems to understand the line in the sand I’m drawing between us for now. Of course, she does. Leaning back into me as she was before, the cat must have been watching as she jumps right back onto Mackenzie’s chest and starts kneading her paws, the low rumble of her purr filling the silent air.

I grab my discarded paperback from the coffee table and flip to the dog-eared page where I left off, throat tight. This is killing me. Mackenzie has bared her trust in me, but I still hide truths about myself that could ruin this chemistry combusting between us.

The longer I go without telling her about June and Hayley’s existence, the worse it’ll bite both of us when she eventually learns I held back. But confessing now feels like it would bedestined to smother this fragile relationship kindling between us. And she’s made it perfectly clear how she feels about a family.

And that’s not the only reason I hesitate to tell her about my daughters. It already feels too late. I’ve already betrayed whatever trust she’s placed in me. Lies by omission are still lies, aren’t they? Or am I getting way ahead of myself?

Maybe what’s happening between us is absolutely nothing. Just a fling. Nothing serious. We’re just killing time in a weird situation as two consenting adults who happen to be attracted to each other.

And get along like a house on fire.

And understand each other without explanation.

And…fuck.

That’s not to say Mackenzie feels the same way about me. She’s said nothing, and really given no solid indication that whatever’s going on is anything more than a casual tryst for her. I’m not the only one here, acting on impulse. She is too.

Is this just temporary insanity between us? Convenience and impulse bonding us with little substance beneath?

I stare blindly at the book’s pages, not seeing the words, gut churning. I’ve backed myself into a fucking corner here. But what can I do? Destroy a fragile bond too intoxicating to imagine over things not said? Or pray my porous excuses to myself hold water a little longer.

I don’t like any of my options. Not anymore.

And I’ve done this to myself.

twenty-one

. . .

So Sweet I Could Die

Mackenzie

Curled in one of Ian’s borrowed sweatshirts, I cradle a steaming mug of freshly made hot cocoa, pleasantly worn out. Stormy dozes comfortably by the hearth, tail flicking occasionally in a kitten dream. The quiet feels like a balm, only the soft crackle of logs breaking the silence once in a while. It’s almost as though we’re living in one of those hours-long YouTube videos with a ‘snow cabin scene’ it’s so surreal.

When did I last allow myself to enjoy so much stillness? Years maybe, if ever. I’m always rushing headlong onto the next crisis. I don’t take time like this for myself.

Ever.

Yet now, barricaded by snowdrifts with Ian, my typical anxiety tingles surprisingly deep beneath my skin. It’s not just under the surface threatening to overtake me. Laughter slips out easier now than it ever has before. The peaceful lulls only amplify that foreign lightness fizzing through my veins. It’s making me feel like a completely different person.

And it’s not all bad.

I don’t know if I could get used to this on a permanent basis, but for now, it’s exactly what I needed. It only took aski accident, broken bone, hospital visit, and blizzard to make it happen, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. Oh, and an amazing and totally hot rescuer, too. I can’t forget that.

Who could forget Ian, really? And why would anyone want to?

My gaze catches on him organizing provisions across the room in the kitchen area. I should feel uneasy at this unfamiliar calm, like waiting for the other shoe to drop, as always seems to happen. Instead, an affectionate warmth blooms in my chest seeing his perpetually mussed bedhead cowlick. My lips quirk as he fumbles a box of pasta before righting it, ears reddening. When did I start trusting someone could accept my thorns as readily as my petals? When did I start trusting him?

He’s been so open with me, and so honest, it feels like we could tell each other anything. His opening up to me about what happened with his band, and with his ex-wife, showed me a different side of him. A complex side that I knew was there somewhere but finally made itself known.

Everyone has demons. Reasons and circumstances that make people the way they are. We all are brought up differently, grow differently, rebel differently, and end up being some sort of mash-up of all of it. And each hurt caused by those things heals differently too. It’s that scar tissue that hardens us to the world around us. Makes us hide ourselves away.

I feel like I’m getting to see beyond those layers with Ian. And I like what I see. He’s decent. He’s vulnerable. He’s principled. And, he cares.

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