Is she hurt?
Aiming to investigate, I cautiously advance toward her, the sound of water splashing against the tiles masking both my footsteps and the girl’s muffled sobs.
"Are you alright?" I ask hesitantly.
She abruptly snaps her head up, recognition slamming into me at the sight of her scowling face.
"Get out!" Blair snarls, the words tearing from her throat.
I flinch back in surprise, spinning around and hightailing it the hell out of there. The second I’m on the other side of the door, though, I freeze. Then I turn around and go back in.
Blair’s still right where I left her, huddled beneath the shower with her face buried in the tops of her knees. Grabbing a towel off the rack, I advance in her direction, clearing my throat to announce my presence.
She lifts her head, dark eyes shining with anguish when they meet mine. Then she opens her mouth– probably to yell at me to get out again– but I beat her to the punch.
“I can’t leave you like this,” I say as I come to a stop a few feet from her, crouching down so we’re at eye level.
Blair frowns back at me, brow furrowing. "We’re not friends, Matty."
"I know," I rasp, extending the towel toward her.
Another olive branch.
She snatches it from my grasp, face screwing up in rekindled anger. "This is all your fault, don't you get it?" she chokes out.
"No, it's not," I reply calmly, maintaining steady eye contact. "I wasn't there that day. I'm trying to make amends for my part in it, but…” I trail off, swallowing thickly. “I can't bring your mate back, Blair."
"You're right,” she whispers, shoulders drooping as some of the fight drains out of her. “Youcan’t, so just go.”
Fuck.
It kills me to see her like this, broken down and sobbing on the floor. She’s clearly in pain, and while she may not consider us friends, I’m a damn human being with compassion. I’m not walking away when her grief is so palpable.
I’m no stranger to the dredges of grief. I still grieve every Guild soldier, and while I don’t regret helping take them out, the guilt for my involvement in their demise will haunt me forever. Our situations are different, but loss weaves a common thread between Blair and I, whether she wants to admit it or not.
Pushing up to my feet, I step closer to the shower and crank the dial to turn off the spray, lowering myself down to sit against the wall beside blair.
“Tell me about him?” I ask quietly, ignoring how quickly the water on the floor soaks into the ass of my jeans. “What was his name?”
“Dylan,” she sniffles, wiping her nose with a wrist.
I dip my chin in a nod. “Did you love him?”
She doesn’t reply, the silence between us hanging heavy. I shift my weight uncomfortably, lips parting to retract the stupid question I just asked, but then she draws a shuddered breath and drives a knife straight into my gut.
“I would’ve, if given the chance.”
I drop my head back against the tile, squeezing my eyes closed and dragging a hand down my face. “I’m so sorry, Blair.”
“Sometimes I think it’s a good thing I didn’t really know him,” she murmurs, staring down at the tops of her knees. “It already hurts so much, but if I knew him, it probably would’ve been worse, right?”
“But you wouldn’t have always had to wonder,” I reply, thinking aloud.
She lifts her head, turning it toward me. “Exactly.”
Some fragile sense of understanding passes between us as we hold eye contact, but then she looks away and the moment’s gone. Blair pushes up to her feet with a heavy sigh, wrapping the fluffy white towel around her body as I rise to stand beside her.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, swiping wet strands of dark hair away from her face. “For the towel.”
