Page 6 of That Rush

“Apparently, everyone has agreed to tell me that today.”

“It would be rude to lie during a family crisis.”

I lower myself onto the step beside him. He hands me one of the mugs, and I wrap both hands around it. The coffee is strong and black, exactly how I drink it.

“Mom made it,” he says.

“I assumed you didn’t suddenly learn how.”

“I know how to operate a coffeepot.”

“Knowing and doing are different things.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, just for a second.

We sit without speaking. The yard stretches out in front of us, familiar enough that I can name every place Axel and I got hurt as kids. The fence Dad made us repair after we tried jumping it on bikes. The tree Adrienne fell out of because neither of us would admit we had dared her to climb higher.

Axel braces his forearms on his knees. “You haven’t told me what happened.”

“I told you there was an accident.”

“You told everyone there was an accident.” His voice stays quiet. “I’m asking you to tell me.”

My fingers tighten around the mug. I’ve repeated the basic facts to doctors, police officers, family, and people whose names I immediately forgot. Every version sounds too simple for what it did to us.

“Krista and I had been working on a new arrangement for Josie.”

“I know.”

“She was going to spend more time here. We hadn’t made it official, but we’d agreed on it.” I look down at my coffee. “Krista was bringing some of Josie’s things from Texas so she wouldn’t have to live out of a suitcase whenever she came to Colorado.”

Clothes. Toys. Books. The stuffed horse she refuses to sleep without.

“They were driving here when it happened,” I continue. “Krista died. Josie lived. That’s the whole fucking story I have to keep telling.”

Axel doesn’t flinch at my tone. “Those are the facts. Tell me what you’ve been thinking.”

I take a drink even though the coffee has gone bitter on my tongue.

“She was on that road because of me.”

His jaw tightens. “Aiden.”

“If I hadn’t moved back here, she wouldn’t have been coming to Colorado. If I hadn’t asked for more time with Josie, there wouldn’t have been a car full of her things.”

“You wanted to be with your daughter.”

“I wanted to fix everything.”

The admission comes out harsher than I intend. I set the mug on the porch before I drop it.

“For years, Krista told me I was never there. I kept saying I was working for them, as if that made every missed dinner and broken promise acceptable.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “When she left, I blamed her for taking Josie. I told myself she was punishing me.”

Axel stays silent, which makes it impossible to turn this into an argument.

“She wasn’t punishing me,” I say. “She was tired of raising our daughter alone while I congratulated myself for paying the bills.”

“You changed.”