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They would not be held.
Truth crushed her in an avalanche of twisting discomfort: if she couldn’t face those hurts and heal those insults to her pride, she would resort to the same pattern with Grant. She would toy with him, pretend to love him, name him as a problem, treat him as a contagion. Shut him out, shut him down.
No, no, no, no.
Did psychological spiraling happen in all life-and-death situations, or just hers? It had happened in the car; it had happened after the tree branch. It had happened after she’d slept with Grant. Did that say something about him? Or her? Or tree branches? Melinda growled.
The answers weren’t going to come to her in cold storage. Melinda unwound her legs and dangled them over the edge of the bed. She stared at the walls for one final moment, then dropped to the floor and walked to the door.
~
Grant sat abandoned, empty dish in his lap, his eyes on the fire. What the hell had just happened? He snorted. What had happened was that he’d used his pseudo-psychology on her again and she hadn’t appreciated it. She was in Paul’s bedroom right now throwing her clothes into her suitcase, lacing up her boots, and preparing to hike out.
Dammit.
She’d been right, he was avoiding the pain of significant loss. For all his reading and ruminating, he was still doing the dance of denial and protecting himself from happiness like he had protected himself from pain. He suddenly longed to right that wrong, to learn the lessons he’d missed while he mourned his mother.
Grant stood. No. He wouldn’t let her leave. He would fight like the white-horsed knight she’d accused him of being. Determination readied his legs and flexed through his arms. He caught sight of the bowl gripped fiercely in his hand and laughed. Fine sword for doing battle.
No matter. He marched into the kitchen, laid his bowl next to hers, and stared down her door.
And then he stopped. What exactly was he going to say? I think I have feelings for you; could you help me get over my mommy issues? Yeah, the ladies loved that.
Why was he even there? He had nothing redeeming to say, nothing useful to her in her process of discovery. Or in her process of condemnation, wherever she was. Hadn’t he held her captive enough? Were his feelings really her problem? No, they were not. Dammit. Why didn’t he have a sword to fidget with?
Maybe he should be casually cleaning the kitchen when she emerged.
He was doing a disturbing amount of staring at her door. Stalking, rather.
Could we call it monitoring?he wondered.
Try haunting, his mind answered.
In the midst of his semantic crisis, Melinda’s door flew open.
~
Melinda shrieked. One hand flew to her chest. The gargoyle was back and this time it was hunched outside her door. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry,” Grant said sheepishly. His weight shifted side to side, his hands flexed closed and open, then worried the front of his shirt.
“Uh,” he began.
“It’s all right,” Melinda said. “It’s all all right. It’s my fault. I’m sorry I left.” She closed her eyes. Opened them again. Wished they were closed. Stared at his chest. “Okay, sprinted.”
She raised her eyes to his. Was he sick of her games yet?
“Um.” She drew a breath and exhaled. “Want to come in and talk?” She hadn’t stepped foot out of the bedroom. Couldn’t. She’d found clarity in that ascetic space and didn’t want to become tangled in the web of warmth he’d spun in the den or the clutch of joy she’d created in the kitchen.
His eyebrows lifted. “Sure?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
Melinda stepped back and Grant stepped forward. She faced the room and wondered where they should sit. She settled for cross-legged on the bed. Grant chose the straight-backed chair that had served as her lock the first evening. It felt like a year ago.
“I...” I what? Say something. Say anything! “I think you’re right,” she forced out. “There is something between us.” She lifted her gaze from her hands to his face. “It’s not just you. It’s me too. I...feel it too.” Deep breath. “And not just that, it’s the other stuff you said—my mom disappearing into her pain and my dad not coping and them abandoning us.” Another deep breath, shakier this time. This was hard. “Me checking out from my brother. And from all hope of human connection.”
“I was way outta line—”
