“He’s in good hands now,” I say as I rub her back.
Nora pulls away with wild eyes tinged with red. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready to lose him. I seriously am at my limit, Tacker. I can’t lose anyone else.”
I’m short on words of reassurance. I have no clue what his condition is or how precarious. All I do know is that her pain is my pain. Her fear is palpable, and the threat of impending grief makes my legs weak.
Seeing Nora like this—so unsure of herself and almost paralyzed with fear—brings me right back to that plane crash.
Sitting there trapped by wreckage while feeling utterly helpless. I watched MJ in pain, crippled with fear, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.
Seeing Nora like this—hearing the agony in her voice and knowing how much she’s already hurting—it slices through me as sharply as it did when it was MJ looking to me for all the answers on how to make it better.
It should be apples and oranges, but it’s not. It’s two women I love who are hurting, and I don’t know what else to do but take that upon my shoulders.
Admittedly, there’s a moment when I think to myself—yeah, not sure I can handle this, either. There’s something to be said about closing myself off from the world. Sure, I’d be isolated and lonely, but my capacity for pain would be largely diminished.
As I study Nora right now, her hurt causing me hurt, I have to wonder why I want this.
Maybe I don’t.
Maybe I’m just too sensitive.
Maybe I’m broken.
Or maybe I just love way too deeply, which makes it my risk to bear. Here this woman stands in front of me, healthy and whole, yet in pain because someone she loves is extremely sick. I can feel every bit of it deep in my bones.
And it’s not even Nora who is at risk of dying. It’s just her sadness I’m feeling, and it hurts as keenly as if I’d lost her.
In all the times over the last several weeks when I’ve compared MJ to Nora and vice versa, it didn’t hit me until right this very moment that there is a big difference between the women.
And it’s that Nora actually has the capacity to hurt me way more than MJ’s death ever did. Yeah, it makes me feel like shit to even admit it, but it’s true. The bond I’ve forged with Nora is deeper and more ingrained into my being. Losing her would fuck me up—big time.
Walk away.
It would be safer.
Easier.
“I’m sorry,” Nora says with a sniff as she wipes at her eyes. Pulling out of my embrace, she puts on a brave face. “Didn’t mean to fall apart on you there.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I say, but it’s an automatic response.
Nora shakes her head. “You don’t need this on you. You’ve been dealing with enough. You don’t need me adding to your problems.”
“You’re not.” And then it hits me like a ton of bricks—makes me dizzy with the realization… Nora isn’t and never could be a problem to me. Nor a burden. Sure, the depth of what I feel for her is scary as shit, but that’s actually a blessing when it boils down to it. Framing her face in my hands, I dip down closer to her. “You’re the solution.”
She blinks. “Pardon?”
“You were the solution to my problems,” I say. Suddenly, it just makes so much sense now that she’s the one standing before me needing support. “First as my counselor, then later as my partner and lover. You gave me the strength I needed to push past my own fears.”
Nora shakes her head, a wry smile on her face. “That was all you, Tacker. I was just a sounding board.”
“It was you,” I say with a shake of my head. “You’re my truth, Nora. And I’m fucking dazzled by it. You risked everything for me. Risked your career to give us a shot. You went into this knowing I have the real capacity to hurt you because of my issues, yet you weren’t deterred. You’re the strongest and bravest person I know. You make me want to be a better man. It’s because of you that I’m a better person today.”
Nora’s lower lip trembles, the magnitude of what I’m saying starting to sink in.
“You are everything to me, Nora,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “Everything I need in this life. I can’t wrap my head around it just yet—the why’s of the plane crash and for what possible reason MJ died—but I think part of that answer lies in the fact you and I are supposed to be together. I fucking hate saying that—and I pray to God MJ forgives me those thoughts. I’ll have to check in with Dr. Dumfries for sure on that bit of mind fuck, but yes… you are meant for me. You’re mine, and I’m yours. I’m positive of it. And even though it scares the fuck out of me over the prospect of losing you, and it causes me actual pain to see you in pain, I would not have it any other way. I wouldn’t want one single thing to be different.”