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"Even when Grams died, all I felt was a lack of feeling, an awakening to the reality that life is not infinite, But facing you now, knowing I might never be able to win you back…knowing all of my happiness rests on being with you…knowing if I can’t convince you to look past what I did and give me another chance…then"—a muscle jerks at his jawline—"then all I feel is fear. For the first time in my life, I’m afraid. For the first time, I can’t see a way forward, can’t see through the darkness… For you are my light."
"Stop." I slap the wet cloth, now stained with his blood, on the island. "You don’t get to make these fancy declarations of love, which feel so heartfelt that I know they’re genuine, and expect me to take you back into my life. How can I, when I don’t know if the next moment you’ll decide you don’t want me anymore?"
He jerks as if I’ve physically slapped him. And when I dare to look at him, his expression is one of anguish. "Goldie, I am so sorry, baby." The tendons of his throat stand out in relief. "I know I haven’t come through for you in the past."
"Well"—I manage a small smile—"to be fair, you were there both times my jerk of an ex tried to get stupid with me."
"I’ll always be there for you, Goldie." He looks between my eyes. "And I’m going to prove it to you, I—" He winces. The color fades from his face.
"What’s wrong?" I scan his features and notice the pain that clings to the edges of his eyes. "Are you hurt?"
"It’s nothing." He sets his jaw.
For the first time, I take a closer look and realize he’s holding himself stiffly. Also, there’s a growing patch of blood at the side of his sweatshirt.
"You’re hurt," I exclaim.
"I’ll heal."
"Take it off." I gesture to his clothes.
"I’ve been dreaming of you saying those words." He begins to smirk, but it comes out as a groan.
"Okay, that’s it, you need to get out of what you’re wearing so I can see the damage.”
"It doesn’t hurt at all.” He sets his jaw.
I roll my eyes. “Can you stop being so stubborn and let me clean your wound."
He tucks his elbow into his hurt side and stifles another groan. "I’m fine."
"You. Are. Not. Fine." I tug on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and he hisses in pain. I glower at him. "Take it off, right now."
He stares at me, then a small smile curves his lips. "Bossy, huh?"
"You have no idea. Also, stop trying to charm me with your smile."
"You think my smile is charming?" he asks with interest.
I huff. "Hasn’t your ego been stroked enough already?"
"Other parts of me haven’t been stroked in a long time, unless you count my hand, but I don't." His mouth curls.
"Okay, I’ve had enough of this." I grab the neckline of his sweatshirt, but he curls his fingers around my wrist.
"You don’t want to do that."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you don’t want me to take off my shirt."
"Umm, I do. I need to clean your wounds and stop more blood from flowing."
"You sure?" He looks between my eyes.
I frown. "O-k-a-y, this is getting weird, but since you ask, yes, I’m sure."
"Okay." He slowly raises his arms, wincing as he does.
