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Normally, he would’ve grabbed the boxes from her and carried them in, but he was afraid if he did, she’d have the upper hand and lock him out, leaving him on the wrong side of the door, still holding those damn boxes.
He opened her door and as soon as he got his ass on the other side, he pried the boxes from under her stiff arm and put them next to all of the open ones lining the wall. All marked and partially full.
Thank fuck he came when he did, otherwise she might have disappeared.
She remained frozen on the other side of the open doorway, her feet still planted in the corridor.
He hoped to fuck she wasn’t afraid of him.
He would never physically hurt her. For fuck’s sake, he’d already hurt her enough to last a fucking lifetime.
He returned to the doorway and her eyes dropped to his extended hand. She squeezed them shut and he didn’t miss the slight sway of her body. Then her dark brown eyes opened and she tentatively put her hand in his.
Jesus fucking Christ.
That fucking simple gesture meant more than she’d ever know.
He took one deep inhale. Two. When she didn’t move, he pulled on their clasped hands to encourage her to step inside.
When she did, she released his hand immediately. He closed the door behind her and turned. He wanted to rush to her, but forced himself to remain in place. To give her space and not overwhelm her.
With her back still toward him, she whispered, “You hid it from me, Ozzy.”
The breach of trust and the disappointment was thick in her words, her voice… Fuck.
“Yeah, ‘cause I knew what would happen. Was bein’ selfish ‘cause I wanted more time with you.” He sucked in another breath and let it go. “Truth? Wanted forever.”
She nodded but stayed turned away from him. “So did I.”
Those three simple words were like a knife flaying him open.
But he didn’t give a shit that it cut deep, because that was what he was there for. To flay himself the fuck open.
“I don’t know what to do with any of it. All of it. I don’t know how to… deal with it. I don’t know if I can. I can’t say it’ll ever be okay because I’m not sure if it ever will.”
He moved away from the door, and stepped around her to stand in front of her.
Her head was tipped down, her hair hiding her face. He wanted to touch her, to put his thumb under her chin and lift it, so he could see her.
He wished he could take that confusion and pain away from her, but he couldn’t. Because he was feeling exactly the same.
Unsure of what to do with the past. Unsure of what to do with the future.
Unsure if things could be fixed.
“This is not something simple where you or I can sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened. Because it did, Ozzy. It did and it affected both of our lives.”
“Sweetheart…”
She shook her head, still keeping her head down, then when he dipped down to see her, she covered her face with both hands. Blocking him.
He wished he knew the words that would make this better.
Fuck him, he didn’t.
After his mother died, he didn’t really care about anyone. He didn’t need anyone else. He only ever relied on himself.
Until now.
Until Shay.
But her shutting him out wouldn’t help.
He came here hoping she’d see how much she meant to him. If he had to fucking grovel to do that, he would.
If he needed to crawl over broken glass, he would.
If he needed to walk through fire, he would.
Whatever it took.
Whatever it fuckin’ took.
He dropped right there. At her feet.
Onto his damn knees.
For only the second time in his goddamn life.
The first time being when he did it in the puddle of his mother’s blood on the kitchen floor.
“Shay,” he whispered, but she didn’t uncover her face. Refused to look at him. Fuck it. He grabbed her wrists and forced her hands away from her face. “Sweetheart… Look at me. Just fuckin’ look at me.”
When she opened her eyes, a lone tear rolled from one corner and down her cheek.
“Look at me,” he whispered. The next word felt foreign on his lips. “Please.”
When she did, when she finally looked at him, he wished she hadn’t.
Because like that day in his apartment, the day he confessed, it made him feel so goddamn helpless.
He didn’t know how to fix this. Fix them.
Maybe he was wrong to come here. To come to Boston.
To even hope…
“Just give me a fuckin’ chance, sweetheart. I’m just askin’ you to put yourself in my fuckin’ shoes. What I had to deal with. How I fuckin’ felt. How seein’ that, seein’ her…” He grimaced.
Another single tear slipped down her cheek as she nodded. “I did, Ozzy. I put myself in your shoes. I imagined myself as a teenager walking into the kitchen of a house that was meant to be a safe place for your family. Only to discover your mother on the floor beaten and bloody. Lifeless.”
