Page 90 of I’m Already Gone

“That’s not an apology, Lily.”

“Maybe not,” she mumbles. “But it’s the closest to one you’re getting today.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Still stubborn, I see.”

She finally looks at me again. “You loved that about me once.”

“Yeah,” I admit, stepping a little closer, drawn in by the challenge in her gaze. “I still might.”

Her breath catches at my admission.

I glance around the patio, then back to her. “Do you need any help with anything out here?”

She shakes her head, a small, grateful smile touching her lips. “No, thank you. I’m going to water my plants and sit out here for a bit.”

I nod, hoping she’ll ask me to stay, but knowing better than to push. “Okay. You have your phone, right?”

She pats her pant pocket. “Yes.”

“Use it if you need me for anything. Anything at all.”

“I will.”

I remain in place for another minute, just watching her, then offer a small, soft smile. “Okay, then. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?” she asks, making her sound innocent, almost childlike. Almost as if she didn’t want me to leave.

“Just to the store, grab a few things. But I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” she says, her eyes following me as I turn.

I leave the patio door slightly ajar but pull the screen door shut, so it would be easier for her to get back inside.

I take one more look at her to see she’s already tending to her garden. I withdraw my phone from my pocket, unable to resist, and snap a picture of her.

For four years, my heart has been broken. But now, I feel like I can breathe again.

Lily

The insistent, jarring whirr of a power drill yanks me abruptly from sleep.

I groan, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, squinting as the early afternoon light pierces through the blinds.

And there it is again, that rhythmic, grating sound.

I frown. “What in the world?”

Swinging my legs off the bed, I slide my feet into my warm booties before padding out of the room.

The noise grows louder as I descend the stairs, my hand gripping the banister. Reaching the bottom, I turn the corner, my gaze landing on a scene that instantly clears away the last traces of sleep.

Tools are strewn around Ethan. He holds a drill firmly in his hand while Ollie stands beside him, holding up a small, gleaming object.

“Need this one?” he asks.

Ethan glances at him, then offers that heart-melting smile, the one he used to give the kids when they were his age, full of pure, unadulterated adoration. “Nah, buddy. But you can hand me that one right there, the one with the blue handle.”

Ollie carefully places the tool he’s holding back into a box, then takes a few steps to his left. He bends down, rummages for a moment, and picks up another tool, then hands it over.