Page 39 of Sorrow & Strangers

Chapter Twenty-Two

Summer

The light floods into my bedroom, and I shift. My muscles still ache, but they’re better than they were yesterday. I linger in the limbo between sleep and consciousness, savoring that blissful moment I have every morning, before I remember the nightmare that is my life, and that I’m alone. Drifting closer to the surface of wakefulness, I brace myself, waiting for that first devastating blow. With my eyes closed, I wait for the sorrow to swarm in as it always does, but as I continue to bask in the softer realm, I start to get suspicious when I’m not flooded with grief. It’s still there, still lingering, but it’s not all-consuming as it usually is.

Don’t be a coward, Summer.

I blink my eyes open, squinting against the stinging light. Alice is still sleeping soundly next to me. Her arms are wrapped around me, clinging to me. I’m not sure if she’s trying to ward off my nightmares, keep me safe, or ensure I stay with her. Perhaps it is a mixture of all three. I slowly extract myself, and while she stirs, she doesn’t wake.

I slowly extract myself and turn back to look at her. Pain stabs my heart as I remember leaving the bed like this and turning back to look at Connor. How he would bury his face in my pillow and inhale deeply, taking in my scent.

The sorrow still hasn’t taken me over yet, and I feel stronger than I have in a while. Could it be because I was able to throw the stranger from my dream? Has the small act of empowerment somehow started to repair me?

No. Nothing he does could help me. I hate him.

I glance at myself in the mirror. My eyes are red and my face puffy from all the tears I shed yesterday, but my skin has a glow it hasn’t had in a long time. I had never experienced the post-cry glow until last year because I’d never cried, but after Connor died, the tears never stopped. I brush my fingertips along my cheekbone, and I notice my eyes are a little brighter too.

Pulling on my yoga pants and a sports bra, I set out for a run, craving the burn in my muscles and the centering that exercise offers. I’m still so sluggish, but it doesn’t take long before the wave of endorphins hit, and I relax into it. I am barely paying attention to my route, too lost in the air singing through my lungs, my feet against the concrete, the sound of birdsong, and the sun against my cheeks. So I am a little shocked when I find myself outside the gym. I stop and look up at the building. Did I plan to come here? Did I make this my route because I’m feeling emboldened?

You have been brave today. You woke up. You got out of bed. You moved your body.

You continued to live.

I need to talk to Max and set the record straight. Maybe I need to apologize? I don’t know, but I do know I’ve come here for a reason, and it’s time to stop hiding. It’s time to stop being a fucking coward.

I take a breath and step into the gym, feeling a shiver go through me as the cool air hits my sweat-slicked skin. The door has barely closed behind me when I lock eyes with him. His thick eyebrow lifts, and I know he’s intrigued. He wasn’t expecting me, and I can’t blame him. I wasn’t expecting to end up here either.

“Hey,” he says, and I try not to notice how his biceps flex as he straightens from his bent position over the desk and crosses his arms over his chest.

I remember his hands all over me, his lips, his⁠—

Summer. Stop.

“Hi.” My voice is stronger than I expected, so I continue. “Can we talk?”

Max clears his throat. “My office?” he asks, and I can’t help but notice the hint of nerves in his voice.

I nod and walk toward it, Max’s powerful presence following behind me. His office is minimalist and clean, but pretty boring. I’d expect nothing less from a gym rat like him, but then my gaze locks on a textbook sitting open on his desk, along with a notepad littered with notes, and I frown at the strange sight. When I reach the center of the room, I turn to face him.

Max closes the door and stands in front of it, watching me almost warily. “What’s up?” he asks.

“About the other night . . .”

“Right,” Max says. He sighs softly and walks across the office to lean against the desk.

I can feel a blush creeping up my neck, and I look away from him. “I under­stand what it was, and I’m . . . Fuck. I’m sorry you felt like you had to⁠—”

“Had to?” Max interrupts, and I look up at him. He’s watching me closely, obviously bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Max . . .” I start, preparing to go into a soliloquy about how I understand how pathetic I am and how he must have taken pity on me, but Max’s eyes flash green, and my words trail off.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, you’re going to piss me off.”

“Max,” I repeat, bristling for some reason.

“Summer,” Max growls back.

“I understand I was . . .” I try again.