of his hand but he doesn't seem to feel it.
He shows me the scar on his wrist. "See this? I cut myself just before a job. It was like a week after David died, and I was really out of it. I never noticed how much I was bleeding. So I bled all over the place where I got the car from, and all over the car, which the cops somehow managed to get back in a raid before it was shipped off."
He pauses to take a shuddering breath and I grip his hand tighter. "But all that would've been fine, had I not gotten into a huge fight with Louie, you know, the guy who was hitting on Janine on our first date?"
I'm still catching my breath, but he's not waiting for me to answer. "Which in itself was really dumb, because I never get into fights. That was like the third time ever, but anyway, I put him in the hospital, and they didn't know who did it. Louie was unconscious and couldn't tell them. So they took DNA samples. And guess what that matched up with?"
Both my hands are covering my mouth now, my eyes sore since they're popping out so hard. I can't even comfort him, because that's the worst sort of bad luck twist I ever heard. And I certainly can't tell him it wasn't all his fault.
"And the real messed up part is that Louie never even pressed charges against me after he woke up."
He chuckles, but it's a cold sound, like rocks rattling in an empty tin bucket.
I finally let go of my mouth, my breathing returning to normal slowly. He's staring off into the flames again, rocking back and forth.
I scoot over and run my hand across his broad back, down his left bicep, squeezing his muscle. It makes him stop rocking, but he's not looking at me yet.
"Are you seriously telling me you've only been in three fights?" I ask, running my hand back up his arm. "How's that even possible?"
He looks at me, and some of the seriousness melts from his eyes as he grins. But too much still remains. "I had three older brothers, and a really big best friend. It just almost never got that far, alright? I'm not like some pussy."
I pull him back so he's leaning against me again, my legs hugging him from the sides. "We don't have to talk about this anymore. We can talk about something else. Or do something else."
He leans into me, running his hands across my calves. "There's always the bathtub. It's like a Jacuzzi. We could go out in the snow naked and then come back and take a hot bath."
I shiver at the mere thought. "Yeah, and get pneumonia while we're at it. Besides, I had enough snow trudging up to the house. Would it kill you to shovel your driveway?" I squeeze his biceps hard. "I mean, what are these for anyway? Just for show?"
"Yeah, pretty much," he chuckles, adding. "I got them in jail so people would leave me alone. And I did shovel that whole driveway last weekend, but then it started snowing again like the minute I was done. So now I'm just gonna wait for it to thaw."
The image of Scott shoveling snow, preferably without his shirt on is taking center stage in my mind, making heat surge through me, so maybe the bath can wait.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I try to broach the subject of Scott coming back with me a few more times, but not very hard, because each time I do his eyes get very dark, form too hard a contrast to the soft clouds I'm floating on in this timeless void I found here.
It's like my whole life is locked inside this house, with Scott, and I never want to leave. But New Year's Eve is snaking closer and I have to go home on January 1 st . Though the part of me that will stay here when I do might be too big to live without.
My eyes spring open on the morning of the last day of the year, my heart already beating furiously in my chest. I dreamed our goodbye, but I forced myself to wake up before I could walk back across the snowy field and board my plane.
"What's wrong?" Scott asks, running his fingers through my hair.
I shake my head, and blink back hot stinging tears. "Nothing, just a nightmare."
He kisses my forehead, sweet warmth
He shows me the scar on his wrist. "See this? I cut myself just before a job. It was like a week after David died, and I was really out of it. I never noticed how much I was bleeding. So I bled all over the place where I got the car from, and all over the car, which the cops somehow managed to get back in a raid before it was shipped off."
He pauses to take a shuddering breath and I grip his hand tighter. "But all that would've been fine, had I not gotten into a huge fight with Louie, you know, the guy who was hitting on Janine on our first date?"
I'm still catching my breath, but he's not waiting for me to answer. "Which in itself was really dumb, because I never get into fights. That was like the third time ever, but anyway, I put him in the hospital, and they didn't know who did it. Louie was unconscious and couldn't tell them. So they took DNA samples. And guess what that matched up with?"
Both my hands are covering my mouth now, my eyes sore since they're popping out so hard. I can't even comfort him, because that's the worst sort of bad luck twist I ever heard. And I certainly can't tell him it wasn't all his fault.
"And the real messed up part is that Louie never even pressed charges against me after he woke up."
He chuckles, but it's a cold sound, like rocks rattling in an empty tin bucket.
I finally let go of my mouth, my breathing returning to normal slowly. He's staring off into the flames again, rocking back and forth.
I scoot over and run my hand across his broad back, down his left bicep, squeezing his muscle. It makes him stop rocking, but he's not looking at me yet.
"Are you seriously telling me you've only been in three fights?" I ask, running my hand back up his arm. "How's that even possible?"
He looks at me, and some of the seriousness melts from his eyes as he grins. But too much still remains. "I had three older brothers, and a really big best friend. It just almost never got that far, alright? I'm not like some pussy."
I pull him back so he's leaning against me again, my legs hugging him from the sides. "We don't have to talk about this anymore. We can talk about something else. Or do something else."
He leans into me, running his hands across my calves. "There's always the bathtub. It's like a Jacuzzi. We could go out in the snow naked and then come back and take a hot bath."
I shiver at the mere thought. "Yeah, and get pneumonia while we're at it. Besides, I had enough snow trudging up to the house. Would it kill you to shovel your driveway?" I squeeze his biceps hard. "I mean, what are these for anyway? Just for show?"
"Yeah, pretty much," he chuckles, adding. "I got them in jail so people would leave me alone. And I did shovel that whole driveway last weekend, but then it started snowing again like the minute I was done. So now I'm just gonna wait for it to thaw."
The image of Scott shoveling snow, preferably without his shirt on is taking center stage in my mind, making heat surge through me, so maybe the bath can wait.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I try to broach the subject of Scott coming back with me a few more times, but not very hard, because each time I do his eyes get very dark, form too hard a contrast to the soft clouds I'm floating on in this timeless void I found here.
It's like my whole life is locked inside this house, with Scott, and I never want to leave. But New Year's Eve is snaking closer and I have to go home on January 1 st . Though the part of me that will stay here when I do might be too big to live without.
My eyes spring open on the morning of the last day of the year, my heart already beating furiously in my chest. I dreamed our goodbye, but I forced myself to wake up before I could walk back across the snowy field and board my plane.
"What's wrong?" Scott asks, running his fingers through my hair.
I shake my head, and blink back hot stinging tears. "Nothing, just a nightmare."
He kisses my forehead, sweet warmth
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