I grip his hand so tight my fingers ache. I feel like I’m falling. Like the world is falling. And he’s my last piece of solid ground.
“You seemed okay in the car,” Nolan observes, while taking smaller steps so that his stride matches mine. “Want to tell me what changed?”
“The car was moving,” I choke out, looking down at the ground so I can see it pass under my feet.
“Okay,” he breathes, squeezing my hand, then in a soothing tone, he comments, “It’s pretty cold out here, love. How about we get back in the car and drive around?”
I vehemently shake my head, not wanting to leave the only safe place I have.
“Then let’s go for a walk instead of doing laps in the driveway,” he suggests, steering me out of the courtyard. “There’s a garden with a hidden gazebo you haven’t seen yet. My mom had a wholeSecret Gardenphase and wanted a little hideaway. Now, it’s mostly used for romantic interludes during the summer. Some that have scarred me for life.”
I can’t find it in me to laugh at the moment, too focused on walking and breathing, but Nolan doesn’t seem to mind. He chatters about the plants, anecdotes of the obsessive care in the decisions of what theme his parents wanted for the landscaping—whether to go with foliage that would turn with the seasons or stay green year round—and the discovery that birch trees are either maleorfemale. They ended up with both that left a hodgepodge of birch trees flowering at different times of the year.
At no point does he treat it as odd that we’re walking in the rain, with his clothes weighed down so heavily from the water that his thin t-shirt droops from his shoulders. He never acknowledges that he has to practically shout to be heard over the roaring downpour. He simply holds my hand, his steps shallow to match my stride, and leads me down a winding stone path that journeys around the side of the property to the back. There’s a short, wooden bridge that goes over the stream flowing through the property. Due to the rain, the stream is active and volatile—the water shooting over stones and rock faces on its way to the forest beyond.
We stroll along serpentine paths that feel more secluded with each step, the encroaching vegetation growing more wild. Nolan suggests the long way to this hidden getaway, a trail that loops around onto itself, when he sees the continued desperation in my eyes. We walk until my face is numb and Nolan is shivering so bad that it’s hard to understand him over his chattering teeth. I know I need to stop. That we need to go inside and get warm, but if I do, the truth will catch me. So I keep going. One aching step after another, until my feet turn sluggish and I trip. Nolan catches me before I hit the ground, his supernaturally quick reflexes keeping us both from eating pavement.
Lifting me up into his arms, he continues onward, carrying me bridal style so I still have full view of the world slowly passing us by with each step. Tears drip down my face, lost within the raindrops, and I curl into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and lean my head against his shoulder.
“Want to tell me what happens when we stop moving?” he asks gently, his muscles straining as he tries not to shiver.
“Then it’s real,” I sob, my fingers digging into his back. “She lied, and I’m going to be all alone.”
“Who lied? Why would you be alone?” he probes, leaning his head against the top of my mine.
I shake my head and bury my face against his chest, trying to swallow back my tears. Part of me stands outside myself, looking down with a judgmental scowl. She hisses that I’m overreacting. So what if Mildred is my grandmother? Boo-hoo, I’m going to have a long life. Grow up. If I don’t stop acting insane, I won’t have to wait until a quarter of my life has passed before I’m all alone.
Guilt eats its way through me that Nolan is out here wet and shivering because of me. Because I can’t hold my shit together.
“We can go inside now,” I offer, hoping he can’t hear the fear in my voice. “I’ll be fine.”
He twists his head to look up at the sky, the rain still falling like the tears of wailing widows. “You’re a horrible liar,” he replies, chuckling ruefully. “Want to try that again?”
“Fine, I feel bad that you’re out here because my crazy ass keeps falling apart,” I snap, my face contorting under the strain of trying to keep everything inside.
“Love, I will stand out in this rain with you all night and walk until my feet fall off if that’s what it takes to make you feel better,” he proclaims, his grip digging into my leg and side. “Though, I’m pretty sure the guys would start looking for us eventually, and I’d have to trade shifts for carrying you around in the rain. Besides, I look good all wet.”
While he continues to walk, coming up on where the path overlaps, I snort over his ridiculousness and my battered heart warms from his sweetness. The rain eases as the torrential ache inside me is assuaged by love. It’s the purest thing I feel at the moment, and the words sit on my lips. Knowing I will live centuries after he’s gone, there’s an urgency to tell him what he means to me. That not only do I love him, but I’minlove with him.
However, I hold back, feeling my confession would be selfish. Donovan says Nolan has feelings for me, but does it matter if he’s trying to fight them? He’s comfortable being intimate with Donovan, but despite Donovan’s assurances to the contrary, he’s done his best to enforce the line of a platonic friendship, only allowing the line to blur for my sake when he feeds. Wouldn’t it be a better show of my love to refrain? To respect what he wants from our relationship?As much as it hurts, I’ll be the friend he needs.
Concentrating on helping Nolan abates my own pain and panic, pushing my newfound knowledge to the background where it can’t touch me for now. The rain turns into a light mist.
Blinking down at me with drops of water trapped in his eyelashes, he murmurs, “Feeling better?”
“Yes,” I answer quietly, but still hold him tight because I’m not quite ready to let go.
“Ready to see the gazebo?” he inquires, readjusting me in his arms.
“That’d be nice,” I reply, then snuggle against him in case he had thoughts of putting me down.
What? Friends snuggle.
Nolan chuckles softly and heads down the short path that leads into the heart of the wild vegetation, stage whispering, “There may even be a blanket tucked away somewhere—just don’t think too hard about where it’s been.”
This time I do laugh, feeling lighter, and allow myself the moment to enjoy the comfort of being held.
In what I’m starting to think is the custom of the Campbell family, the term ‘gazebo’ is an extremely loose term for the structure that sits like an island surrounded by a moat dappled with autumn leaves and lily pads. It’s made of a framework of rich redwood beams and glass doors that open wide to the elements. Inside is a large, round, sunken couch with an indoor stone firepit in the center, a small bar with a stocked wine fridge, and a line of short wooden cabinets along the far glass wall.
