your skin? Can you imagine what it is to hate someone so much, and yet . . . You destroyed everything.” He staggered back farther from her in defeat, his back sinking against the doorframe, bracing himself as she stayed rigidly planted against the wall, afraid to move, afraid to speak but wanting so much to do something.
She held her breath as he stared at her naked feet. She was having a hard time staying on her feet. Her legs felt like putty, and she was afraid if she even attempted to take a breath, her legs would melt and she’d end up on the floor. He wasn’t doing any better. He seemed to be in a stupor—his eyes might have been focused on her feet, but his gaze was blank and dead. She didn’t need to see his mind to know it was anything but blank. He was lost in there at the moment, and she had no idea if he’d come out from the depths hating her more or less than he did going in. She hoped less; she thought likely more.
“Do you remember the game?” His voice was croaked out as though he couldn’t get his throat muscles to function, but his focus was slowly shifting up from her feet, and she waited, refusing to look away. Of course she remembered. “You know the game. Our game.” His gaze made it to her eyes—his so dark and intimidating, hers with tears watering her vision. “But it wasn’t really a game at all, was it?” His focus had settled on her lips, and his brow flinched when she licked them in nervousness. “It was the only way we knew how to be honest with one another. We were so afraid of crossing that line. I was so afraid of crossing that line.” He slowly let himself sink down to the floor, sitting with his knees propped up, and his arms slung casually across the tops. But there was nothing really casual about him at the moment. However calm and relaxed his body appeared, she knew it was more a wasted exhaustion than a calmness. Bailey stood rigid for a moment, still breathing shallow breaths, the gears in her head spinning.
She finally joined him, stretching her legs out straight, crossing her ankles, and pulling her robe tight across her lap. It hadn’t escaped her attention that she’d said literally nothing to the man, but she knew her words wouldn’t help anything, and she wanted him to keep talking, painful as his words might be. “It was the only time we could really say what needed to be said.” His focus was now solely on her eyes, and she was listening intently. He was right—everything he said. She couldn’t even remember how or when they’d started playing . . . their game, only that it was theirs alone, and they’d never shared it with anyone else. Their relationship, subtle, unacknowledged, ignored as it was by them, was virtually unseen by anyone else, including Jess. They’d hid it well, and it wasn’t until she’d been sitting in a prison cell for nearly a year, analyzing every last aspect of her life that led her there, that she’d finally actually seen it herself.
What happened between them that night at the seawall, hell the night before that even, had been set in motion long before. Her crush on him was not merely some juvenile whim, nor were his feelings for her, whatever they might have been. They cared entirely too much for one another. Their words, every last one of them, were a confession of something important, something they couldn’t say outside the confines of their game, and that night was a catastrophe—an incredible catastrophe they’d avoided for so long but which they failed to control in that moment.
Odd how long hours in a cell day after day had finally given her that clarity. Odder still that it took so many endless days to see what was so obvious. And oddest of all, how well they’d hidden their feelings from even themselves. She’d loved him. She didn’t know what that love had actually meant, didn’t have a chance to find out, and now, sitting on her small cottage floor, she couldn’t help but remember the very moment she
She held her breath as he stared at her naked feet. She was having a hard time staying on her feet. Her legs felt like putty, and she was afraid if she even attempted to take a breath, her legs would melt and she’d end up on the floor. He wasn’t doing any better. He seemed to be in a stupor—his eyes might have been focused on her feet, but his gaze was blank and dead. She didn’t need to see his mind to know it was anything but blank. He was lost in there at the moment, and she had no idea if he’d come out from the depths hating her more or less than he did going in. She hoped less; she thought likely more.
“Do you remember the game?” His voice was croaked out as though he couldn’t get his throat muscles to function, but his focus was slowly shifting up from her feet, and she waited, refusing to look away. Of course she remembered. “You know the game. Our game.” His gaze made it to her eyes—his so dark and intimidating, hers with tears watering her vision. “But it wasn’t really a game at all, was it?” His focus had settled on her lips, and his brow flinched when she licked them in nervousness. “It was the only way we knew how to be honest with one another. We were so afraid of crossing that line. I was so afraid of crossing that line.” He slowly let himself sink down to the floor, sitting with his knees propped up, and his arms slung casually across the tops. But there was nothing really casual about him at the moment. However calm and relaxed his body appeared, she knew it was more a wasted exhaustion than a calmness. Bailey stood rigid for a moment, still breathing shallow breaths, the gears in her head spinning.
She finally joined him, stretching her legs out straight, crossing her ankles, and pulling her robe tight across her lap. It hadn’t escaped her attention that she’d said literally nothing to the man, but she knew her words wouldn’t help anything, and she wanted him to keep talking, painful as his words might be. “It was the only time we could really say what needed to be said.” His focus was now solely on her eyes, and she was listening intently. He was right—everything he said. She couldn’t even remember how or when they’d started playing . . . their game, only that it was theirs alone, and they’d never shared it with anyone else. Their relationship, subtle, unacknowledged, ignored as it was by them, was virtually unseen by anyone else, including Jess. They’d hid it well, and it wasn’t until she’d been sitting in a prison cell for nearly a year, analyzing every last aspect of her life that led her there, that she’d finally actually seen it herself.
What happened between them that night at the seawall, hell the night before that even, had been set in motion long before. Her crush on him was not merely some juvenile whim, nor were his feelings for her, whatever they might have been. They cared entirely too much for one another. Their words, every last one of them, were a confession of something important, something they couldn’t say outside the confines of their game, and that night was a catastrophe—an incredible catastrophe they’d avoided for so long but which they failed to control in that moment.
Odd how long hours in a cell day after day had finally given her that clarity. Odder still that it took so many endless days to see what was so obvious. And oddest of all, how well they’d hidden their feelings from even themselves. She’d loved him. She didn’t know what that love had actually meant, didn’t have a chance to find out, and now, sitting on her small cottage floor, she couldn’t help but remember the very moment she
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