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A knock came at the door.
My future.
Isaac stood on the porch, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He’d washed the blood from his face, but blue and purple colored the skin around his right eye. A little slash tore the corner of his lower lip.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.”
“It’s late. You must be tired. But I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He raised his eyes to mine. “Are you?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “I am.”
He nodded. “Okay. Good.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah, I do.”
I opened the door wider and he stepped inside. A waft of expensive clothes and cologne as he passed, instead of gasoline and smoke. I felt a stab of fear that the Isaac I knew was gone. That three years of Hollywood had turned him into someone else.
I closed the door behind me. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Did you quit smoking?”
He nodded.
“I’m glad. Though I miss the smell a little.” I swallowed. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Willow. So fucking much.”
We watched each other for a moment. Now that the chaos of the night had died away we were left with only each other and three years of silence.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said finally. “I don’t know where to begin or how to begin again… I don’t know if it’s what you want.”
“What I want…” I said, looking up and out as the tears were already starting. “I want to tell you the truth about what happened.”
“You don’t have to,” Isaac said.
“But I hurt you too. And I’m so sorry, Isaac, but I can’t regret it. It was the only way I knew to protect you.”
“I know. Marty told me what your dad threatened. He told me not to dredge all that shit up for you all over again. Because it would hurt you too much. And he’s right. The last thing I want to do in this world is hurt you.” His eyes were shining, his voice gruff. “Again.”
“I believe you,” I said slowly. “But…”
“But what?” he asked, his face pale.
“But it’s not what scares me,” I said, and the nightmare of t
hat first winter without him came back to me. “The silence, Isaac. The silence scares me. Three years…”
He put his hand over his heart as if my words had stabbed him. He gripped his shirt, the pain constricting his face. “I know,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry, Willow. I swear to fucking God, I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head, my heart aching. “I know it’s how you cope,” I said. “You’ve been hurt too. But if you’re asking me what I want, then I’m telling you. It’s you. Your presence. Your voice. To feel connected to you. To never feel that cut off from you again. Even if things don’t work out between us, I can’t have…nothing. I can’t.”
“You won’t,” he said, his voice thick. “You won’t, ever again. I swear. I’ll never stop being here for you, talking to you, telling you every day how I feel. Because the only fucking thing I feel is how much I love you. And how sorry I am for adding to your pain when you were already carrying so much.” He coughed, his jaw working. “You’re so goddamn brave, Willow. Braver than anyone I know. Braver than me. And what you did tonight…” He shook his head. Then he grew very still. He swallowed hard, and lifted his eyes to mine, bracing himself. “Did I lose you?”
