Page 94 of This Broken Heart

He finds me in the dim light from the stove and shakes his head.

He doesn’t need to say it. My heart throbs painfully.

Ignoring his prickly exterior, I sweep forward, wrapping my arms around him.

His coat is cold, the zipper is like ice against my chest. He pulls it off and drops it where he stands, kicking his boots off. I watch him wash his hands at the sink. He’s not speaking to me and I’m wondering if it would be better for me to give him space, but then he turns around and takes my hand. I follow him into his room.

We’ve never been in here. Not at the same time.

It smells like him. Like soap and wood and leather. Pulling off his shirt, he kicks off his jeans and falls into bed. He pulls me with him and I let him tug me up against his side. I wrap my arms and legs around him, trying to share my warmth.

He takes a shaky breath, weaving his hands through my hair. “I was a dick, wasn’t I?”

Despite myself, my lips pull into a tiny smile. “The biggest.”

There’s laughter in his voice. “Are you saying Iamthe biggest dick or that I have the biggest dick?”

I grin, burying my face against his chest. “Yes.”

62.

Josh

Letting Betsy die was a rookie mistake from start to finish.

It’s a humiliating blunder made worse by the fact that everyone was attached to that sweet old girl.

I’m having a hard time filling my dad’s shoes. He wasn’t just good at his job. He was a master. I can’t stack up, not yet, anyway.

But I’m trying.

I was stressed already, and then Erin came out and it was just déjà vu. I could almost see Ana standing there, in the same place, on the same sort of night.

Like seeing double.

Watching Betsy slowly die was putting me in a very dark place. I guess seeing Erin, worrying about her like that, just triggered me.

It’s been two years, but the pain and the fear is as fresh as ever. Will I ever outrun these ghosts?

I have to wonder what I’ve done wrong. What did I do in a previous life, that God or whoever’s in charge, would decide to punish me like this? I want to be optimistic, to leave it all behind, but most of the time I feel like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When will Erin be taken from us? How?

Maybe she’d be better off if she was nowhere near me. Maybe I’m toxic.

It’s superstitious bullshit, I know this. But isn’t that the basis of religion?

It gives you hope, but supplies the fear. The sickness and the cure.

Religion can’t solve the problems I have.

Call it seasonal affective disorder. Call it PTSD.

Whatever it is makes it pretty hard to see the silver lining.

All I know is that the best I’ve felt in days was laying there in bed with Erin in my arms. She’s warm and comforting andgood.

Better than I deserve.