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There’s the sound and scent of frying bacon.
We’re in the house alone. The thought slams into me.
I wonder if I could walk down there, sink into his arms, thank him, and ask him to hold me. I wouldn’t have to think about Eva, his fight with Adam, or that I want so much more from him.
In my room, I take my notebook from the bedside drawer. I read over the old words, the teenage handwriting.
Bryson loves me. He needs me.
I’m going to have Bryson’s babies.
Harper and Bryson are forever.
Leaving it open on the bed, I get dressed, looking at myself in the mirror. Nothing’s changed since it happened, physically. I’ve got the same face, eyes, and everything, but I feel slightly altered. There’s this on-edge feeling as if I’m waiting for something to happen, but that’s nothing new. I’ve been waiting for something to happen with Bryson for years… since before it was possible.
Another knock comes at my door, this one firmer, causing my hands to clench tightly and taut nerves to sparkle through my body.
“Hello?”
“I’ve made breakfast, if you want some,” Bryson says, voice stilted.
Perhaps he wants to bury all the inappropriate things which have happened between us. Maybe he wants to be a family friend again, nothing more.
“I’ll come down in a minute.”
“I’ve got it here,” Bryson says. “I figured you might not want to come down.”
“Oh.”
I walk to the door, open it, step back, and hope my expression is something akin to normal as I stare up at him. He’s wearing a black hoodie that outlines his chest, faded jeans, and his mouth shaped into an unreadable shape.
“Where do you want it?” he asks.
“Uh, the desk, I think. Yeah, that’s fine.”
I back up as he enters the room, his shoulders broad, the tray of bacon, eggs, and toast looking tiny in his huge hands. His protective hands, the ones that white-knuckled the steering wheel across the city, bashed open the door, and beat those men who tried to hurt me.
He places it down, then turns to me, his eyes blazing.
“You look good,” he says after a pause, the words coming out as if he’s trying and failing to fight them. “How do you feel?”
“Surprisingly okay. I don’t remember most of it, except for the beginning. And they didn’t… you know, get to do what they wanted.”
“If they had,” Bryson snarls, fire igniting his voice, “they’d be dead. Every single one.”
I step forward, raise my hand, and then lower it.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
I almost don’t say it, but whatever happened, it cracked something open inside of me and made it easier to approach things like this. Maybe it’s knowing that regular life can veer off course at any moment.
“I’m not sure what’s going on between us,” I murmur. “Did you come for me because it was the right thing to do, or…”
“Or,” he says, nodding. “It was definitelyor.”
I step forward but don’t close the distance. His body trembles as if the closer I get, the more difficult it is for him to maintain composure.
“Are we going to pretend nothing ever happened?” I say, summoning some bravery.
