Clash (Crash 2)

“Thank you for everything,” I said, grabbing his hand.

His fist released instantly, relaxing in my hold. His fingers wove through mine, playing with the gold band circling my ring finger. We hadn’t set a date yet, we were only eighteen after all, but we were crazy in love. So maybe we’d wait until we were done with school and do the whole shebang wedding, and maybe we’d wake up tomorrow and couldn’t wait to be tied together one final way and run to the closest courthouse to demand a shot gun wedding.

It didn’t matter to me either way. I didn’t have any doubts any more. Confusion didn’t muddy my mind from the truth. But I was glad I’d gone through it all. I had to walk through the fire to see what was on the other side. I had to get burned to know if it was worth it. I had to not only ask myself, but live my life without Jude in it to realize just how much he belonged in it.

“You’re welcome,” he said, the lines on his face fading away. “Again.”

“Third time’s a charm?” I said, retrieving the hook where it had fallen on the floor.

He glared at the hardware, snatching it out of my hands and repositioning it on the wall.

“Let’s get this thing hung,” I said, as he pounded the nail and hook into a new patch of drywall. “We’ve both got an early morning and a long drive, so we need to get to bed.”

In this space of mostly taped up boxes and a few opened ones, the bed had been the priority. The sheets hadn’t even made it on after Jude dragged the mattress up a few flights of stairs before we’d christened the studio.

“So help me god,” Jude muttered at the wall. “If you don’t cooperate, I’m tearing you down.”

I smiled, handing him the picture. Nothing like a little “incentive” to get a man focused.

Holding his breath, he settled the wire into the hook and let it hang. Stepping down from the step stool, he grabbed my hand and led me across the room.

Five steps later, he spun us around so we could take in the full effect of the picture. It was still crooked. But less so than the first and second attempts. Maybe he was right‌—‌maybe the walls surrounding it were the things that were all askew.

Wrapping his arm around me, he pulled me close. “Perfect,” he said, kissing my head.

I glanced up at him, then back at the picture. “Close enough,” I said, tucking closer to him. “Close enough for me.”

THE END

o;Thank you for everything,” I said, grabbing his hand.

His fist released instantly, relaxing in my hold. His fingers wove through mine, playing with the gold band circling my ring finger. We hadn’t set a date yet, we were only eighteen after all, but we were crazy in love. So maybe we’d wait until we were done with school and do the whole shebang wedding, and maybe we’d wake up tomorrow and couldn’t wait to be tied together one final way and run to the closest courthouse to demand a shot gun wedding.

It didn’t matter to me either way. I didn’t have any doubts any more. Confusion didn’t muddy my mind from the truth. But I was glad I’d gone through it all. I had to walk through the fire to see what was on the other side. I had to get burned to know if it was worth it. I had to not only ask myself, but live my life without Jude in it to realize just how much he belonged in it.

“You’re welcome,” he said, the lines on his face fading away. “Again.”

“Third time’s a charm?” I said, retrieving the hook where it had fallen on the floor.

He glared at the hardware, snatching it out of my hands and repositioning it on the wall.

“Let’s get this thing hung,” I said, as he pounded the nail and hook into a new patch of drywall. “We’ve both got an early morning and a long drive, so we need to get to bed.”

In this space of mostly taped up boxes and a few opened ones, the bed had been the priority. The sheets hadn’t even made it on after Jude dragged the mattress up a few flights of stairs before we’d christened the studio.

“So help me god,” Jude muttered at the wall. “If you don’t cooperate, I’m tearing you down.”

I smiled, handing him the picture. Nothing like a little “incentive” to get a man focused.

Holding his breath, he settled the wire into the hook and let it hang. Stepping down from the step stool, he grabbed my hand and led me across the room.

Five steps later, he spun us around so we could take in the full effect of the picture. It was still crooked. But less so than the first and second attempts. Maybe he was right‌—‌maybe the walls surrounding it were the things that were all askew.

Wrapping his arm around me, he pulled me close. “Perfect,” he said, kissing my head.

I glanced up at him, then back at the picture. “Close enough,” I said, tucking closer to him. “Close enough for me.”

THE END