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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Thomas
Iwilledmyself to keep my distance from Erin and not take the few short steps to pull her in, to smell her and hold her and be with her. Idid everything Icould not to overwhelm her.
After Ilet my eyes get accustomed to the sight of her in person, my racing heart slowed and Itook in her appearance. How unwell and feeble she seemed.
My gaze traveled to the face Imissed terribly, seeing through the coats of makeup she applied at how tired she looked. And though Icouldn’tbe sure, it also seemed like she lost some weight, her slender figure hiding beneath along-sleeved light gray button-up dress.
Guilt and regret consumed every cell in my body. Iwaited too long to come for her, despite my gut yelling at me to do it, that she didn’tcontact me because she was unwell. Iwithheld from gritting my teeth. Any aggressive movement had the potential to revert her to three weeks ago and Iheld back, sticking to the smile Ihad when Ilaid my eyes on her.
Iheld the door for her, walked side by side until we got into my car, and drove in silence to my home. We went up the short stairs without saying anything and Ipoured us tea while she expected me in the living room. Isat on the armchair, next to the sofa where she was, not forcing myself on her.
“I’msorry, Thomas.” She surprised me by speaking while Iwas still marveling at the image of her in my house.
Itilted my head slowly, completely blindsided. Erin sat up tall, her shoulders pulled back, and stared back at me.
“You’re sorry?”
“Iam.” She nodded once, adecisive movement. Ipretended not to notice her clawing at her skirt. “Iplanned to head over here and apologize after class, but you beat me to it.”
“I’mthe one who should apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” The need to cover my face from the shame was strong. Instead, Iheld her gaze as courageously as she held mine. “It’smy fault, Ilost it and I’msorry.”
“It’snever just one person, though, is it?” Her lips curved to the side, then she went on, “Listen, Ipromised myself Iwouldn’trun from anything anymore, and Idid just that. Igot scared and Ihad things to work through and Idid all of it alone when Ishouldn’thave. When Ishould’ve included you as apart of my decision. At least”—atear escaped her and she wiped it with the back of her hand—“at least to check on you.”
My concerns for her well-being were pacified by anotch, seeing her handling herself with confidence. Ihated seeing her hurt, but she was not broken.
“Erin, you did nothing wrong. Iunderstood where you were coming from and if it weren’tfor me none of this would’ve happened.” She opened her mouth to object and Iheld my hand to ask her to let me finish. “Still, if it’ll make you feel better to hear it, Iforgive you and Iapologize too.” Iswallowed. “Iapologize for being careless with you. I’ve never in my entire life beat up another person, Iwant you to know that. I’mnot like that.”
The air between us was thick, both of us reliving that damn night. Erin pulled her lips between her teeth, and when she stayed silent, Iwent on. “You’re the love of my life, and I’mwilling to do anything to make this relationship work.”
She breathed deeply and released her fingers from the tight hold she had on her dress. “Iforgive you. Come sit with me?”
“Always.” Ibreathed, my lungs expanding after being wound tight for so many weeks.
She cuddled into my side as Isat down and Iclosed my eyes, inhaling her scent. She made this house ahome.
“There’sone last thing Iwanted to show you before you give me your forgiveness.” Reluctantly, Itwisted to look at her and pulled her back by the shoulders. “It’supstairs, if that’sokay with you.”
Her big, round eyes peered at me from under her long lashes. “It is.”
With the easy part behind me, Ikissed her forehead, slid my hand from her shoulder down her arm, and intertwined our fingers. We walked like this to the stairs when Ibroke our connection to allow her to go up ahead of me.
We reached the second floor and stood in front of the closed door to the bedroom.
“When we were apart, Ihad time to think,” Istarted, keeping my voice as steady as possible while my insides turned. “Ipainted. You gave me the tools to express myself, to heal myself, and Iused them the evening after the scene at the bar.”
My throat clogged with shame. Ipaused, breathed, and continued, “What came from it, without planning or anything, were paintings of my history, from the very start until the age of eighteen when Ileft for Russia. Of what made me so inherently fucked up. It’salot, and I’ll understand if you feel like it’stoo much. Regardless of what your decision will be, Iwant you to know that Idecided to seek professional help and will be seeing atherapist.”
“Thomas”—she caressed my cheek, exhaling awatery breath—“we discussed this. You don’thave to say anything you’re not ready to share.”
“We did, and your patience kept me sane.” Iheld her hand and kissed it, missing the simple gesture Ihad taken for granted. “It’sout in the open anyway, and there’sno one I’drather share it with than you. Idon’twant any more secrets between us.”
“If you’re ready, I’mhere for you. I’ll always be here for you.” Her eyes, filled with compassion, encouraged me to start. This fiery woman filled me with bravery and Iclung to it as Iturned the doorknob and opened the door.
The canvases were organized on the bed once the paint and varnish had dried, and Ihad covered each of them with ablack cloth so Icould reveal them one at atime.
Her eyes searched mine. “Please start.”
