And denial. That lined the bottom of me. It was a dark, black hole.
His hand curved around my waist, but the touch took on a different feeling. It was more soothing than sensual.
“I can’t text you that back because it isn’t fair to you, or me. I want to say it when I’m feeling that and only that. Willow’s gone, and I’ll always feel as if half of me has been ripped away, but I know someday those wounds might heal over. I’m not saying I’ll completely be right one day, but I’m saying that until most of those layers of pain have gone away, I can’t say it back. There isn’t enough room inside to say it back. Not yet.”
I pulled him against me, feeling his surprise before he caught himself so he wasn’t crushing me against the building. He put an inch of space between us, but that was too far in my mind. I wanted all of him against me, his whole body plastered against mine.
That soothed me, but I wanted more than soothing.
Ryan’s hand cradled the back of my head. His thumb brushed over my cheek. “I know what you’re saying, and I’m not mad.”
“You aren’t?”
He shook his head, his eyes firmly attached to my lips. “When I texted you that, I knew you couldn’t say it back. That isn’t why I sent it. I pressed send because it felt right to tell you. I wanted you to know, but I get it. I really do.” He groaned again and dipped down. His lips finding mine for a brief second before he pulled away.
I went with him, arching on my toes, not wanting to break the kiss.
He rested his forehead to mine, his gaze boring into my eyes. “You say it when you can, and I’ll still be here.”
An eighth piece fit with the other seven.
Five hundred ninety two to go, but it was good. So much good.
I tugged him back to me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Two months later
Counseling Session Five
I sat on Naomi’s couch, and she took the seat across from me.
To say I’d been a participant—willing or otherwise—in the first four would’ve been an outright lie. I’d walked out of the first one. I’d refused to talk the second one. The third session lasted a few minutes longer as I recited obvious facts, like that Willow had died. And I’d dropped the bombshell about Ryan and me in the fourth one.
Naomi smiled at me. I saw the caution there and felt a little remorse.
She was in her mid-thirties with a medium complexion. Her black ringlets framed her face today as she’d let it hang loose. Some days they were slicked down with product, but today they were a little frizzy and free.
I liked how they looked. They seemed to match all the freckles on her face—almost like they didn’t want to be tamed. They wanted to be themselves.
I could relate. Somewhat. Okay, not at all. The counseling sessions had been the only limitation put on me by my parents since WWD, except lately. They had given me too much freedom in the beginning, but after everything blew up, it was starting to be the other way around.
“How are things going at home?”
I’d been waiting for Naomi to speak, and I looked up. I was somewhat surprised. She usually came at me friendly, but with a determination to get me to talk. That wasn’t what I heard today.
She sounded curious.
Some of the tension left me, and I found myself answering. “Better.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she coughed and smoothed out her shirt, sitting more upright in her seat. “What do you mean by better?”
I told her.
I didn’t see why I shouldn’t start being honest, at least a little. I still didn’t want to talk about Willow, but a conversation about my family was something else.
When I was done, I glanced at the clock. That had taken me twenty minutes. She’d sat in silence the entire time.
“In my work, I’ve learned that families either come together in times of severe grief, or they fall apart. The fact that your father was leaving doesn’t strike me as uncommon. The fact that you stepped forward, you said something, and everyone listened to you is not common.” She stared at me. “You changed the narrative. Do you realize what you did?”
I frowned. I didn’t know what she was talking about, and I was starting to wish I hadn’t said anything.
“You helped your family, Mackenzie.”
“What?”
“You spoke up, and your parents listened to you. I’ve had other children in here because of grief. In some cases, they didn’t speak up, or if they did, no one listened. I can only speculate as to the reasons your parents were going to separate, but you said your father moved back home?”
I nodded. “He’s been home since the day I talked to him. My mom too.”
“Is your little brother at his school again?”
“He’s there during the week, but he comes home on the weekends.”
We had movie dates every Saturday afternoon.
Her hands rested on her knee, one on top of the other, and she leaned even closer. “I don’t know your sister. I never met her, but I can tell you this one thing: she would be proud of what you did.”
The session turned awkward after that, at least for me.
Naomi said a bunch of nice things about me, and I tried to change the topic every time. A joke. A debate. I asked her ridiculous questions about why she didn’t have more plants in her office. I even tried to piss her off. I told her if she didn’t stop praising me, I’d feel like I was being propositioned and could report her. She only grinned and went right back to telling me all the good things I’d done since Willow died.
She was wrong.
Everyone was wrong. I knew my parents looked at me a little differently since the whole Mallory-stalking/yelling-at-my-dad event. It was like they were seeing someone new.
I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t like it.
And there was one other topic I didn’t want to talk about, and so far, Naomi hadn’t brought it up.
She did when I was leaving this time.
“Mackenzie.”
I was at the door and I paused, looking back. “What?”
“We have to talk about your sister’s suicide note before I’ll sign off on these sessions.”
Yeah. That.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“How was your session yesterday?”
I jumped, and my hand hit my locker as I whirled around, but I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Ryan and I had talked a little last night on the phone, and I knew he would seek me out today. This was the new normal. Things were returning to a more regular schedule at home, which meant my mom stayed home twice a week. She reserved the right to drive me to school those mornings, and this was one of them.
Cursing, I waved my hand around.
“Shit.” Ryan touched my arm and leaned forward to inspect my fingers. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I tried for a smile, but it felt like a twisted clown grimace. My fingers really hurt. “Oh. No problem. It was my bad. I was zoning out.”
He ran his thumb over my knuckles. “You jammed two of your fingers. I can reset them, if you want. This happens all the time with basketball.”