I heard Caiden mumble something underneath his breath, but I didn’t strain to hear what he said. I had an idea what he was mumbling about.
“I guess I still feel triggered when it comes to that. I thought I could do it, but every little noise and splash sent my nervesinto overdrive.” The vulnerability in my voice tainted my tongue, I wished I didn’t sound so pathetic.
Dante’s face softened. “Amelia. It’s okay. No need to explain yourself. You’re safe and that’s what matters.”
I heard the screen door slam shut and looked just in time to see Caiden storming outside, pulling off his shirt in the process as he went around back.
After a few moments of hesitation, I dismissed myself and followed Caiden.
He was behind the house, an ax in his hand as he chopped firewood.
Still weak, I leaned against the side of the house as I watched him.
He didn't notice me at first. He was lost in the rhythm, the violence of movement, splitting the soft pine with a force that was almost showy.
The ax rose, fell, sang through the grain. I watched him, mesmerized, the way his exposed back flexed. The way his bare arm muscles tightened with each swing. The way his breath steamed in the cold air.
He looked like he could hack through the whole forest and not touch the bottom of his anger.
It dawned on me how strong he was. His chest was broad and muscular, not like a bodybuilder, but it was the perfect mixture of lean and muscle.
Finally, he sensed me. The ax paused mid-air, wobbling at the top of its arc. He turned, wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, and met my eyes like he'd known I’d be standing there all along.
"You’re not supposed to be out here," he said, but it came out soft, almost pleading.
"I needed air," I said. "And I needed to see if you were okay."
He snorted, slamming another log onto the stump. "I’m not the one who almost drowned."
The ax bit deep, splitting the wood clean in two. He tossed the halves into a growing pile with more force than necessary.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked, hating how small I sounded.
He shook his head, but it was a lie. "I’m mad at myself," he said. "I should’ve never let you get in that fucking canoe."
I stepped closer, the wet grass cold through the soles of my socks. "You didn’t let me do anything. I wanted to try. That’s not your fault."
He stared at the wood, at the mess of his own hands.
"I've done enough damage for one lifetime," he said, voice flat. "You ever think about how many times I've hurt you? Even when I'm trying to help, I end up making shit worse."
He set the ax down, careful, like it was something delicate instead of a weapon. Then he turned and looked at me. It was too raw, like he’d torn himself open just for the occasion.
I wanted to say something that would fix it, but the only words that came to mind were useless and small. "I don't blame you," I said.
"You should," he spat. "I do. Every fucking day."
He wiped his palms down his jeans, leaving streaks of sap and dirt, then exhaled like he was trying to empty out his lungs one last time.
"I shouldn't have snapped at you. Or Dante." He tried to laugh, but it went nowhere. "But you get it, right? How it feels when you want to keep someone safe, but you know you’re the last person who ever could?"
I did. I got it so well, I almost laughed at the irony of us.
"You never had to keep me safe, Caiden," I said. "You just had to not be the one hurting me. That was all I wanted. I don't know if it’s something you can even do, but that's what I wanted."
He flinched at that. "I'm trying, Amelia. I was an asshole back then,” he said, then his voice softened. “I want to think I’ve changed, but?—”
“You have.” The words rushed out. “You’re not that person anymore, Caiden.”
