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“What was yours?” I ask.
She thinks for a second, turning to look out at the rough water. “To forgive myself,” she says. Those words make me tense, the need to understand pulsing through me. “Don’t ask me for what,” she says almost instantly.
I stare at her, and swallow back the words. I’m not good at controlling my impulses—not with anyone other than Nala. It feels like I would do anything for her, even when it means forgoing what I need, just to make sure she’s okay.
“To be forgiven,” I say, catching her attention. When she looks at me, I say it again, so she understands. “That’s my new goal. To come home and make a life I want, regardless of how much I might not deserve it. And to be forgiven.”
“Malcolm…”
“Ask me for what,” I demand, pushing even when I swore I wouldn’t.
She opens her mouth, and then closes it, shaking her head. “Your reasons are your own.”
I cut her off with a squeeze of her hand. “You know that’s a lie. Ask me what I want to be forgiven for, Nala.”
There is fear in her eyes, and something close to pain on her face. A part of me balks and wants to back down, to tell her I’m sorry and leave her alone like I did all those years ago so I can’t hurt her, but the other part of me, the one that is inexplicably linked to her, knows that there’s going to be some pain, regardless of whether I stay or go. I’ll carry hers and mine if it means finally getting to be with her.
When she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. “What do you want forgiveness for, Malcolm?”
“Other than being a dick last week?” She smiles, and it’s enough. I ignore the twinge of discomfort in my leg, shifting until I face her, making sure she can’t mistake my words as anything other than truth when I say them. “For walking away when all I wanted to do was stay, right here, with you.”
