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He reaches over and fully wraps his hand around mine.
My heartbeat stumbles all over itself.
There’s a slight tremble in him. Under the rain, I think I hear him whisper, still not facing me, “This is what I need.”
I don’t have it in me to pull away.
In fact, I turn my hand to better hold his and then I put my other one there, too, wanting to comfort him as much as possible.
He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.
Then his eyes are open again and he’s asking Rae easily, like he already feels better, “Costume, little lady?”
She’s been pretty quiet these last few minutes, but now she exclaims, “Yes! Pretty please! I’m so, so excited!”
“Me, too,” he says, tossing her a smile that almost looks normal.
When his eyes catch mine, I give his hand a reassuring squeeze.
‘I’m here,’I want to tell him.‘I’ll help you get through this.’
I swear he understands. He squeezes my hand back and looks at me in a way that practically breathes,‘Thank you.’
As we get going, I vaguely recognize the voice in the song playing. “Same band from earlier?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Another good song. ‘Momentary.’”
It doesn’t take me long to like it as much as I liked the other one.
Or to like holding his hand.
Ishouldn’tlike holding his hand. I know that. But I’m not going to worry about it right now.
Our Super Fun Sunday needs to start looking up again, not suffer another drag-down.
|| 12 || Landon
The first time I took real notice of it was when we spoke after one of the longest days of my life and she told me she missed my voice.
The second time was just moments later, when I found her crying outside her door and she pulled me into the hardest, most desperate hug ever.
The third time? When she babbled out that she wasn’t afraid of me—I’d worried on and off all day that she was. It had been slowly but surely crushing me, so hearing her speak to the opposite was more than a relief. It was like being freed.
The fourth time: when I called her‘sweetheart’and instantly felt her body relax. It hit me with the almost irresistible urge to press my lips to her hair or cheek or forehead,somewhere.
When she slid her hand into my hair and told me I was what she’d needed to calm down.
When she wrapped her arms low around me for an even closer hug than what we were already in.
When I awoke this morning with her snuggling up to me on the couch after most definitely falling asleep in her own space.
When she unexpectedly touched my arm at the exact moment I was agreeing with the Hands Like Houses song, in which the singer was talking about being right where he belonged.
And I tried, damn it—I tried to ignore it. I tried to shake it off.
Every time I felt it, I took a second to push it away and tell myself it wasn’t happening, I was overreacting, it wasn’t what it seemed like.
It kept coming back.
