Parker is still and silent, his breath beating down on me, tickling my baby hairs. He hardly flinches when I wrap the gauze around his finger, securing it with a bandage.
“Anyway, I’m not the sun,” I finish, tracing my finger along his dressing, caught somewhere between this moment and a past life. “The sun only knows how to shine, and I’ve seen too much darkness.”
A beat passes, a quiet, poignant beat, and Parker asks, “What happened to him?”
Part of me wants to hide from those words because reliving the worst moment of my life is really, really hard. But the other part of me recognizes the beauty of his question.
He cared enough to ask it.
My grip on Parker’s hand clenches out of instinct, the memories brutal and unforgiving. “It was our wedding anniversary. We had just left a restaurant and were walking home, discussing life. The future.” I inhale a frazzled breath, forcing myself to continue. “We were happy. Kissing, smiling, laughing. We were so, so happy, and then it’s almost like time froze, and evil seeped inside of our little bubble, and everything changed. A stranger came out of nowhere and stole my purse while we were talking about becoming parents, and Charlie chased him, because that’s what Charlie did. He was my protector. He chased him into the busy downtown street and was hit by a car.”
I finally lift my eyes, my blurry, watery eyes, and discover Parker staring down at me with an expression I’ve never seen before. Confusion, maybe, mixed with… a shred of emotional turmoil. It’s like he has no idea what to do or say, but my words are affecting him, and that’s new. That’s something startlingly unfamiliar.
He doesn’t say he’s sorry or offer his sympathies, and I’m okay with that. I’m tired of people being sorry. I’m sick of hearing it.
Parker’s response to me is in everything he doesn’t say or do.
He doesn’t pull away. His hand remains enclosed in mine while he allows me to graze the tip of my finger up and down his bandage, and I feel like this is his own way of opening up and sharing a part of himself. Not with words—not with words that can feel hollow and superficial, but with vulnerability. By breaking down a wall he’s probably spent a hell of a long time building and letting me in.
And I think we both realize this at the same time. We both notice the shift, the power of this moment, the undeniable energy swirling between us—we notice it at the exact same time, and that makes it all the more potent.
My finger goes rogue and travels along his palm, tracing all the little lines and divots, a maze of untold stories. His skin is warm, so warm and inviting, despite his chilly façade. I feel him tense against my touch, his body’s way of trying to resist me, but he still doesn’t pull away.
Parker lets me touch him, really touch him, and I have no idea what it means. It’s beautiful, and it’s intimidating, but I’m not sure I understand it quite yet as we stand here in my kitchen beneath a busted ceiling, while my body starts to lean into him like he’s some sort of magnetic forcefield. Like I’m drugged and loopy, unable to hold myself upright, desperate to steal more of his warmth for myself.
I look up at him then, swaying and strung-out on whatever this is, and goddammit, I can’t help but smile. It’s instinctual, involuntary—just like Parker’s reaction to it.
He heaves in a jerky breath, his whole body stiffening. I can feel him harden, his muscles clenching, because I’m that close to him. And then he finally pulls his hand away, tearing his eyes from mine and looking down.
The moment is severed, and it’s for the best, it really is. I take a step back and bite down on my lip, smoothing out my hair and sucking in my own deep breath.
“I’m going to head out,” Parker says, breaking through the thick silence. His voice is raspy, a little rattled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He gathers up his tools, and I just stand there, watching him, my skin buzzing and my cheeks hot. “Don’t worry about it. You’re injured, Parker… I’ll find someone else to take care of the ceiling.”
Parker folds his ladder and tucks it underneath his arm, reaching for the toolbox with his opposite hand, careful not to make contact with his wound. He pauses in front of me before he leaves, his eyes pinning sharply on mine. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A heartbeat goes by before he sweeps past me and out the door, and I finally let out that breath.
—FIFTEEN—
It’s another monsoon.
Is there a monsoon season in Wisconsin?
If there’s not, there should be. The weather has been bizarre this year with frequent storms, high winds, an abnormal amount of rainfall, and now there’s talk of tornados this evening. As I stare out the rain-streaked glass, I’m grateful that my water issues were only a leaky pipe and not a leaky roof, or I’d be in a bathing suit right now swimming to the liquor cabinet.
“Mel, check it out.”
West hollers at me from the kitchen where he’s helping Shane with the pipe situation. Helping, as in, watching from the sidelines as he sucks down beers and makes useless commentary. Wandering over to the two men, I fold my arms and glance up, having no idea what I’m checking out. “Looks great,” I try, hoping that it really does look great. To me, it’s still just a giant hole in my ceiling—a hole I’m certain won’t be going away anytime soon, considering I wouldn’t blame Parker for canceling on me after his finger injury… not to mention, the inclement weather.
“Right? Shane’s the man,” West grins, tipping his beer at his friend.
Phew.
Shane gives me a quick sweep, his dusky eyes rolling over me, and I’m reminded of the way he looked at me that night at the brewery. That new look.
The look that screams, I’m newly single, and you’re newly single, so what should we do about it?
I clear my throat. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate you squeezing me into your busy schedule.”
“It’s no problem at all. I’m glad I could help,” Shane responds, reaching for the fresh beer my brother holds out to him. “That’s a nice dress, by the way. Pretty color on you.”
Oh.
Interesting subject change.
Folding my arms tighter, I glance down at said dress. It’s a casual dress, periwinkle blue, and it cuts off at the knees, featuring short sleeves and a v-neckline. I spin the skirt, fidgeting through my reply. “Thank you. You’re sweet.”
Is this what the dating world is like?
Or am I just a special brand of awkward?
I lace my fingers through my hair, smiling.
Awkwardly, of course.
Shane continues to stare at me with interest, nodding his head. “I can be,” he quips.
Oh, boy.
“Well, I’m going to head out. I have that pool tournament tonight as long as the weather doesn’t get all Wizard of Oz on us,” West cuts in, glancing my way. “You and Leah coming out?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. Parker said he was going to try and stop by to fix the ceiling.”
“Douchey contractor guy?”
I groan. “Yes, West, douchey contractor guy.”
The ensuing knock at my front door has my belly flip-flopping, my hands smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in my dress, and my eyes dodging my brother’s questioning gaze.