Page 6 of The Rut in the Road

“Raj?” I asked, afraid—not of him, but for him. For whatever had done this to him.

He crossed the room, pushing the door shut behind him, and wrapped me in his arms, burying his face in the side of my neck, holding me so tightly it almost—but not quite—hurt. It was the roughest he’d ever been with me—not that I minded, although it was a little worrying. I hugged him back tightly, not sure exactly what I was supposed to do.

Under my hands, I felt his back rise and fall, deep breaths that expanded and contracted his lungs. Until one of them hitched.

“Raj?” I asked again, worried.

He shuddered. “Just… give me a minute,” he rasped, his arms tightening even more.

I squeezed back, feeling my heart pound in my chest, worry rolling through me. But I stayed silent, trying to give him the time he needed.

“He… The vic looked a little like you,” Raj whispered, then. “Not exactly. Not… not enough that anyone would ever confuse you. But enough.”

I was glad that I knew what he meant.

There were people who reminded you of other people, whether they looked exactly like them or not. Like Carol at the coffee shop down the street from Beyond the Veil, who always remind me of Sara-no-H, who had died at Tranquil Brook. They had the same hair color, the same pale skin, although Carol’s eyes were brown instead of green, and she was taller. But it was the way they both moved, like frightened birds, that always made me think of Sara.

It was a disconcerting thought, though, that there was someone out there who was dead who reminded Raj of me.

“It—hurt,” he whispered. “Physically. Like a punch to the chest.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured back.

He drew in a deep breath, his big body shuddering against me. “I just… I couldn’t breathe. And then, of course, I realized that was impossible. Because you’d been here. And then I could tell it wasn’t… But then I couldn’t get it out of my head.” He was holding me tightly enough that I felt him swallow. “Fuck.”

“It wasn’t me,” I said softly, not really sure what else to say. “I’m right here.”

“Thank fucking God.” Another shuddering breath. Then he squeezed me tightly enough that I made an involuntary squeak of protest. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping back.

“No, it’s okay,” I held on, my fingers tight around his forearms. “Raj?—”

His body was tense. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered.

I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around his waist. “You didn’t,” I assured him. “Just a tight squeeze of air. That’s all.”

He hesitated a second, but then he wrapped me in his arms again. “Still,” he murmured. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” I couldn’t promise that, of course. Neither could he. No one ever can, especially when you think about all the ways people hurt each other with words and without them without ever raising a fist or palm. He might never mean to, but if we stayed together, it was inevitable.

I hoped very much that whatever I did, he’d be able to forgive me for it. Again. I’d already asked him for far more than I deserved.

He relaxed a little, enough to nuzzle into my hair. “Promise me you’ll tell me if I ever get close,” he said softly.

“I promise,” I said into the fabric of his shirt, my cheek resting on his pecs.

I felt him sigh, his muscles relaxing a little more. Then he drew in a long breath through his nose. “You made me pizza?” he asked, and I heard the slight lightening in his tone.

“I did,” I told him. “And cookies, but they’ve only been in a couple minutes so you can’t smell them yet.”

He kissed my forehead, then. “You’re too good to me.”

I snorted. “I made some for me, too,” I told him.

He leaned back, placing his hands on either side of my face, studying me. “Rayn. Did you eat today?”

“I had lunch,” I told him truthfully. But I hadn’t felt much like eating dinner when I’d gotten home, worried because I hadn’t heard from him.

“Rayn…”