I scratch my head while her shoulders shake, quiet sobs filling the space between us.
This was supposed to be relieving for me. Joyous. Like a celebration. I finally get my feelings out in the open, but she’s crying.
Quietly, she picks up the picture of me with Jacob from my end table, studying it, then sets it back down without a word.
Only tears.
My heart breaks. Its beat slows with every tear she sheds.
And then it stops altogether with the next words out of her mouth.
“Is this why you didn’t save him?” she whispers. When she looks up at me, her eyes are cold, iced like the day of Mitch’s funeral. “To have me all to yourself?”
She might as well have swung a bat to my stomach. My throat dries, soaking up all my words with it. Not that I’d know what to say.
How could she accuse me of that?
I’d never do anything to hurt her or Jacob. She has to know that.
Right?
Sixteen
Clara
I’m going to be sick.
I cringe at my question, shocked that I asked it out loud. It didn’t sound like me.
This whole conversation doesn’t sound like us at all. On my way over, I thought a lot about how this night would go and what we’d talk about, but I never considered this.
I never thought I’d be standing here, listening to Dax’s lifelong confession.
His head snaps to me, searching my wide and pleading eyes. “How could you even say that? After everything we’ve been through, how could you even think that?” he whispers, his question laced with disbelief before his jaw sets. His temper visibly grows as he steps toward me, the vein in his neck on the offensive and ready to pop. “I did everything I could to save him!”
I jump, bumping into the couch, and another sob breaks loose like a fucking rainstorm.
I thought our night together was spontaneous, but to know he’s had feelings for me all these years—it’s more than I can handle.
It makes me question him for the first time in my life. The legitimacy of our friendship.
His motives.
Everything.
I didn’t think I’d make it after Mitch died, but Dax was my rock, even from hundreds of miles away.
Now, our whole friendship is at risk.
I refuse to accept this. This whole situation—it’s too much for me.
I leap toward him, beating against his chest, lightly at first, then harder. I hit him faster, the tears uncontrollable as my thoughts spiral out of control.
He doesn’t stop me.
He lets me take out my frustration on him.
“I called every connection.” Punch. “Pulled every string.” Punch. “Gave you financial support. I did everything I could fucking think of,” he says over my cries, wrapping his arms around me to finally slow the punches. “Don’t you know I wish I could save everyone? But it’s not up to me, who lives or dies.” He pauses, and his pain radiates off him, mixing with my own. “It’s not up to me,” he rasps.
I nod, burying my face in my hands against his strong chest, ashamed that we’re having this conversation.
But I’m hurt.
Confused.
I take a deep breath, my knees buckling, and I fall.
Dax falls with me, holding me tightly.
Once again, he’s here for me. Even though I don’t deserve it, it’s exactly what I need—the unconditional comfort and safety only Dax provides is what I need.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, intertwined on the floor of his living room. The silence is deafening as the very foundation of our friendship cracks.
As the world I thought I knew crumbles.
My hand fists his shirt.
I let my eyes rest.
After a moment, I faintly realize we’re moving. I’m in Dax’s arms, then surrounded by cushions and soft blankets. With a warm and lingering kiss to my temple, I don’t feel him anymore, but my eyelids are too heavy to open and check for him.
As I fade in a pool of my own tears, I dream of simpler times.
Summers in Lake Tahoe.
Skiing in Breckinridge during winter breaks.
And the last image before I nod off, is Mitch.
Sitting up, I rub my eyes, disoriented. I feel like I did when I woke up from surgery after giving birth to Jacob. Groggy with a body ache. My vision is blurry, likely from crying. I blink repeatedly to clear it and notice this isn’t my bed or my house.
The lighting’s dim, and the air smells of… Dax.
His cologne.
I snuggle deeper into his bed, bringing fistfuls of his covers up to my nose, and inhale the woodsy smell. I breathe him in like he’s standing right in front of me.
He smells of everything positive in my life.
Until today, when all I thought I knew turned into a lie with one confession.
The door slowly cracks open, and Dax steps inside like he’s trying not to wake me. He takes small steps like the Grinch stealing Christmas. Instinctively, I smile at the thoughtful gesture because in many ways, he’s still Dax.
“Hey,” I croak.
“Hey.” He pauses and switches the light on. He stuffs his free hand in his pants pocket, a bottled water in his other.
“I’m sorry for falling asleep. Must’ve been more tired than I thought.” Sitting up, I rub under my eyes for any runaway mascara, then smooth my hair down, peering outside at the night sky. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
I swing my legs out from under the covers and sit on the edge of his bed.
“Your eyes are a little swollen, and your pupils are shrunken.” He leans in front of me, his hands on each of my knees. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”
“Are you asking as Dax or Dr. Pearson?”
“Have you been talking to my sister? She always talks about my two personas.” He lightly chuckles, but
