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“Yeah, you’re right. And holding my breath just isn’t that useful of a skill. I’d rather be doing things above the surface, than alone below.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and he looks at me with pride. “So I’m done with that.”
He beams over at his dad, who looks much more comfortable now. I swim a few laps then get out, feeling so detached from the pool. It was a dark, inviting hug before. My home, the place where I sickly felt I belonged. A place where I could inflict pain on myself.
It was just a place where I was treading water in misery, and I know now that was wrong.
I shower quickly in the locker room, getting redressed in the same thing I went to work in. I text Scarlett that I’m on my way back to my apartment, and she texts back that she misses me.
I miss her, too.
Coming back to my apartment, there’s a small brown package on my doorstep. I peer down at the label to make sure it’s mine and not Scarlett’s. The label reads my name, and I know immediately what it is.
I found it online a few weeks ago when I was at work, and couldn’t stop thinking of her. Couldn’t bring myself to schedule light bulb orders and paint samples when there was something out there in the world that she wanted, that she needed.
I had to find it for her. I had to bring her back that singular item that bore so much emotional security and sweet memories. Scooping the box up, I kick my apartment door closed and flip on the lights.
More than ever, I feel like telling Scarlett about my swim tonight. Not even the therapy but the swim, because that’s where I realized that no matter what I’ve taught myself I deserve or don’t, I want her, and all I want is a future with her.
It’s one thing to realize you’re finally going to live again. It’s another to realize that living again means potentially losing again, and then I’m reminded of them. And my failures.
My therapist says one day what I perceive as failures will look different with perspective, because I didn’t fail. I had no control of the things that happened. Still, I feel compelled to remind Scarlett, to lay all my cards out, fall to her feet and hope. Hope that she wants me, because I’m ready to have her, fully.
I hop in the shower, taking my time under the heated stream, my head a bleary mess. The front door, which I left unlocked, thuds closed, and I know she’s here. I pop open the shower door, and peer into the endless steam. She appears, and the world settles onto its axis, my brain shifts, everything slows and… I feel better. I feel okay. I feel like it’s all possible.
I turn the water off, and step out. She hands me a towel, wearing her post-shoot sweats, her blonde hair in a braid down her back.
“Hi,” she says softly as I quickly towel off, eager to talk. And being naked in a room with Scarlett is quickly training my cock to get excited, but tonight, I have to tell her.
“Hi, are you hungry? How was work?” I greet her. As much as I want to sit her down and tell her all about the pool and what I want, I have to take care of her first.
She smiles. Beams, really. “It was fun. The triple F shoot went so well. It was super fun. I wish we had commissioned more of those.” I take her face in my hands, pruned and damp, and bring her lips to mine. I need her kiss, I need to taste her for a dose of courage.
“And yes,” she says when I finally release her and lift her under her knees and around her back to carry her to the kitchen. She drops her head to my shoulder comfortably, and her hot sigh flanks my neck, making my heart race. “I’m hungry.”
I lower her to the kitchen counter, and find my hands… shaking.
Jesus Christ, Cohen, get it the fuck together.I clear my throat as I grip the edge of the counter, leaning down to steal a breath. Her hand falls across my wrist in a gentle grip, wordlessly commanding me to pay her attention, give me her focus.
I look up through bleary eyes. My scalp tingles from excitement, fear, everything.
I spot the box, and exhale, reaching for it. I put it in her lap. “This is for you.”
It’s not what I planned. I wanted to talk. I wanted to pour my guts out. But with shaky hands, I think I need more time. I don’t want to rush things. I want control, and right now, pleasing her with this gift is what I need.
She slips her finger beneath the tape, loosening the edge enough to tear it off. Rolling it between her palms, she balls the tape until it’s ready to toss, and I take it from her, dumping it in the can beneath the sink. Slowly, she peels open the box and blinks down at the contents. She doesn’t look up at me for a minute—the longest minute—and when she does, her eyes are wide, mouth open with silent awe.
“Cohen.”
Then I realize what tonight is for. Maybe it’s not to share what I learned in the pool. Maybe it’s to share a little more of me, and see how that settles.
“Addie had one like you described. I think maybe even the same exact one. And I’ve been looking for one just like it, too.”
“Addie,” she whispers, drawing out my daughter’s name like delicate lace filigree, cautious as ever.
“My daughter. Addie.” I’m qualifying her name for me, to say it aloud, and Scarlett knows.
Tears slip down her cheeks without hesitation, and I fight the knot centering my chest. I work around it, pushing it down, forcing more words out, knowing that this is what this moment is for. Honestly, depth, and connection.
“I didn’t keep anything of hers. I regret that now. I was in so much pain, I just…” I swallow hard, wondering how long I can stave off the pain searing up my throat, clinging to the backs of my eyes like fiery torches. “Anyway, I’ve been looking for this music box. I wound it every night when I tucked her in. It was... our thing.”
