Page 87 of Let the Light Shine Through

A few minutes pass until finally she says, “You weren’t the first person to notice my scars. You were just the first person to be upset by them. You’re…” she groans, “it doesn’t fucking matter. Every woman in my family has died of the same cancer. Do you get that?” The look she gives me silences the response on my tongue. “Yes, I avoid commitment. I’m avoiding commitment. But it’s not for my sake. It’d be like a sinking ship inviting passengers to board and I won’t do that to anybody, especially not—”

She stops abruptly, grinding the side of her jaw into her shoulder.

I take a step toward her, needing her in my arms already, but she ducks past, refusing to look at me again.

“I’ll meet everybody back at the house.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t leave,” I beg, but she’s not listening anymore. She’s not listening at all.

The sky outside matches the storm brewing inside my chest as Bryce and I pull up to the cabin. After we made our way back down the mountain Gia abandoned us on, I let him tag along with me to the outdoor store I saw in town. He’s actually pretty funny. Being in and out of hospitals, he spent a lot of time people-watching, giving him the ability to pick apart a person’s personality without ever speaking a single word to them. It’d be freaky if it wasn’t so goddamn entertaining.

Gia still wasn’t around yet when we left, but parking now, I catch sight of her sitting sideways on her four-wheeler with her head leaned back, so her face is pointed at the angry sky.

We quickly jump out to open up the new tarp, the promise of rain sitting heavy in the air as we work to get everything I just bought covered.

Bryce stands frozen, breathing out, “She’s crazy,” and I don’t have to see who he’s talking about to know it’s Gia.

“She is.”

“I’ll go get her.”

Looking over at Gia, I instantly catch Bryce’s arm, telling him, “I got her.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him hesitate, so I jerk a nod at the cabin, saying, “Go ahead inside. I don’t need you catching a cold or something.” He was just telling me about being in remission and how many restrictions there are. His immune system is basically like a newborn baby’s and he has to slowly work his way up.

Even once I’m alone, I don’t rush over to Gia, instead choosing to watch her from a distance for a while. The rain finally falls down on to her slim frame, but still, I don’t move. I can’t. I’m a hostage and Gia is my captor—I’m fucking seized by her.

A crack of thunder rings out, jolting me back to the here and now. Gia doesn’t so much as wince though as she fits a joint to her lips, the tenacious tendrils of smoke attempting to persevere past the drops of pounding water more affected than her. What the fuck is she doing?

I’m closing the distance with heavy, determined steps carrying me toward her a second later. The clouds above us aspire to be as pissed as I am right now.

“What do you think you’re doing? It’s not safe out here.”

“It’s not safe in here.” Without opening her eyes, she points to her head, and I swear her finger grazes her chest as she drops her hand back to her lap.

The electricity hanging in the air calls to the current buzzing beneath my skin as my eyes run the length of her.

“Your clothes are getting wet.”

Pulling from the neckline at my back, I take my hoodie off and move to put it on Gia, when her eyes pop open. Neither of us blinks, but the dying cherry at her mouth catches my eye, so I grab it with one hand before placing it between my lips. I get the hoodie in place on her while traces of the smoke goad me into taking a bigger hit. I do just as the last of the roach dies out.

Gia’s eyes watch without a single trace of emotion before blinking back up to the sky, raindrops sticking to her now motionless lashes. There’s mud up to her thighs, a twig in her hair, and her knuckles look like they’re wind-chapped. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking laid eyes on.

“Dance with me.” The whispered plea floats between us before I can call it back.

It stirs her though, and she looks back at me, asking, “What?”

“Dance with me.”

“Roz—”

Dropping the dead embers to the ground, I pull her to me using both hands, then wrap an arm around her back.

I throw her words back at her, telling her, “There’s always time to dance.” If she can push, so can I. She wants things a certain way? Well, so do I. And right now, I want her in my arms.

She resists at first, only giving in when it’s clear I’m dancing with or without her participation, but when she does, we move in sync to the same song neither of us can hear.

After a minute, she lets out a low chuckle that vibrates through my chest, saying, “I thought you’d be a better dancer.”