He looked away, breathing through his nose, jaw tight. "Seems like nothing has changed. Every time I get close to something good, I ruin it. Or I break it. Or it gets taken from me. Doesn’t really matter which."
He hefted the axe again, then paused, fingers closing and opening on the haft. “Look, could you just… give me a minute?” he said. “I need to finish this. Otherwise, I won’t be able to look at you without saying something I’ll regret.”
I nodded, though I doubted anything he could say would shock me anymore. I started to turn away, but his voice caught me at the edge of the ragged yard.
I thought about pushing back, imagined forcing him to admit what he was really angry about. But he was raw, exposed as a nerve. Something told me if I pressed now, he might shatter for good.
So, I let him be.
“Amelia.”
I looked back. He didn’t meet my eyes.
“Just, I’m glad you’re okay. That’s all.”
He slammed another log down and the sound echoed across the lake. I left him with the axe and the growing heap of firewood and went back inside, my own anger cooling into a sad, dull ache.
In the kitchen, Dante was brewing more tea, the air thick with a humid, earthy sweetness. He didn’t look up when I came in, just poured boiling water over the leaves and set the mug on the table, waiting for it to steep.
“He’s not mad at you, you know,” Dante said after a minute, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals. “He just doesn’t know how to deal with his own shit. Never did.”
I shrugged, unsure how to answer. “I’m not asking him to be my savior. But I wish he’d stop acting like everything I do is some grand risk to be managed.”
Dante smiled, tired but kind. “He thinks if he controls the outcome, he can keep the bad stuff away. It’s what he does best, something it takes a hold of him too tightly, and he can’t shake it off.”
"Is that what you believe?" I asked, unsure if I wanted to hear the answer.
Dante stirred his own mug, the spoon clinking lightly. " I think some people are just built for disaster, and some are built to pick up what's left. Caiden is the first kind. Me, I'm the other."
I looked at him, unsure if I was supposed to laugh, or be offended for both of them. "You think I'm a disaster?"
He blinked, surprised, then laughed and shook his head. "No. I think you’re the only reason either of us functions at all."
His words made me uncomfortable, because I wanted to believe them. I wanted to believe I brought something good to the table, that I was not just a wound that needed constant tending.
He must have seen the discomfort on my face, because he reached over and put his hand over mine.
"I'm serious," he said. "If I could pick anywhere in the world to be, it'd be right here. With you. Even if it's just for the weekend." His thumb brushed the back of my hand, warm and deliberate. "You don't have to keep running, you know."
I shook my head. "I can't stay here. Not for long. This town is poison for me."
Dante smiled, a little sad, a little knowing. "Maybe. But I’m afraid that if you go back with Caiden, he will ultimately ruinyou. Not to hate on the guy, but I know him well, and I know just how deep his anger runs."
He let go, but the warmth stayed, pooling in my chest, some strange relief in being wanted so openly. Though, his words about Caiden struck a seed of doubt within me.
I had begun to slowly accept my blossoming feelings for him, that maybe it could work, maybe he’s not the same tormentor that I once knew.
Dante entering the picture complicated things, and the words he just spilled began to confuse my brain.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, more to myself than him, but he replied anyway.
“You don’t have to decide now. But just know, I’m here, and you could be happy with me, and feel secure knowing I would never ruin you. Hell, maybe we could even settle down somewhere else, away from Pathosbury.”
The choice should have been easy, but it was not easy at all.
My heart was torn, splitting into two paths, and I was unsure of where I belonged.
What I did know is that my feelings for Caiden were real, because if they weren’t, my heart wouldn’t be filled with a deep sorrow at the thought of leaving him behind.
