It’s a present. For me. Made by her. With my name on it. For some reason, this hurts, too. Everything that has to do with this girl hurts—but this is a good pain. It makes me smile, and it makes me wanna weep.
“I also made you these.” She lifts the items in question. They’re fingerless gloves, the same blue as the T-shirt.
I take them. My hands are visibly shaking now, dammit.
“I hope they fit,” she says with a start of that adorable frown on her face. “I tried to measure your hands when you slept the other day, but I wasn’t sure.”
“I don’t care if they don’t fit.” Christ, that came out wrong. “What I mean is…” Yeah, what do I mean?
“They’ll fit,” she whispers and takes a step back, her mouth small and uncertain.
I reach for her, snag her sleeve. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing much.”
But it is. And I want her to know it.
“For Christmas,” I clear my throat because my voice has gone hoarse for some reason, “every year, I made Raine a present. My folks didn’t give a rat’s ass about food and heating, let alone holiday gifts, but Raine was a kid. He wanted to celebrate. He wanted toys. He wanted someone to pay attention to him.” I swallow. Fuck, this isn’t getting any easier. “I didn’t have money to buy him stuff. So I actually made him toys from broken things I found in the trash. Trucks, cars, motorcycles, superheroes.” If anything she looks even more upset now. Shit. “I don’t know I’m telling you this.”
She bites her lip. “And who gave you Christmas presents?”
I snort. “I got no presents.” Who would give them to me? Santa Claus? The fucking Tooth Fairy?
She’s staring down at her hands.
“Your brother must miss you,” she finally says. “He must love you. How could he not? You gave him everything.”
The knot is back in my throat. I clutch her presents in my hands. My first presents, and I’ve botched it by making her sad.
I try to fix it. “Thank you for the gifts, Kay.”
Her lashes lift, and she looks at me, really looks at me, her gaze intense.
“I don’t believe,” she says and puts a hand on my chest, “that you caused a child to die, not on purpose. I don’t believe it was your fault.” She pauses. “When will you tell me that story?”
I shake my head. “Some other day.”
“You’re not a bad person, Ocean. I know it.”
And she walks away, leaving me more confused and hopeful and fucked-up than ever.
Because she wants to know. Insists it’s not my fault. That I’m good.
She’s taking a chance on me. And that makes me wanna take the risk and tell her what happened, and what I’m about to do.
I feel the shift inside me. I will tell her. I need to, even if she walks away without a backward glance.
Clutching my first and last presents from her to my chest, I step out.
***
My phone buzzes as I enter my apartment, carrying the T-shirt and gloves Kayla gave me in my arms. I’m extra-careful as I put them down on the sofa and pull out my phone, wondering if it’s her.
It’s not. It says ‘unknown number’ and I scowl at the screen, debating what to do before I hit connect. “Yeah?”
“Shun.” The connection is bad, but only one person calls me that. “Hey.”
“Raine? That you?” I shove my fingers in my hair and tug. “R.”