Page 140 of Maybe You

I still can’t seem to breathe or swallow through the dryness in my throat.

“That’s not you,” I say.

He stares back without blinking.

I can’t breathe.

“It’s a funny thing,” he says. “Evil. People who’ve never encountered it tend to believe evil is something concrete, clear-cut, and distinct. Black and white. Something you can pinpoint with a look. Actually, it’s a vague gray mass. Ambiguous and obscure. And so well hidden. Impossible to see at first. Until it’s too late. Do you know what the best part is?”

He waits in expectant silence until I shake my head before he leans closer, so I can feel his soft, warm breaths on my lips, his eyes boring into mine.

“When you try to tell somebody? About the evil. About that dark gray mass that’s seeped into everything? No one will believe you.”

He falls back on his haunches after that, and we look at each other. Minutes tick by. Long, silent minutes.

“That’s not you,” I whisper.

He quirks a brow in challenge. “Are you really willing to risk it?”

I hold his gaze.

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. The hollow determination has once again been replaced by fear.

“Well, I’m not.”

I grab his hand and hold him still.

“You’re not that person. You are not your father. The Sutton I know and love is not him. I trust you. Even if you don’t trust yourself. I do.”

He looks down at where my hand is clasping his and closes his eyes.

“I can’t,” he grits through his teeth and opens his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t risk you. I won’t.”

He pulls his hand away and gets up.

“Sutton,” I say helplessly.

He turns around and starts to walk away.

“Sutton!” I call after him.

He doesn’t stop.

Just walks out of my life.

TWENTY-NINE

It’s interesting how we measure time. We all have our own signposts on the journey that we refer to as we go along.

Mine has always been the fire.

Pre-scars and post-scars.

I figured that was how it was going to stay.

After all, how many truly cataclysmic events does a person get in one lifetime?