The thing about people revealing their pain to you?
More often than not. It becomes your own.
And I was wrecked.
Chapter Forty-Three
Music without passion is merely noise. A life without passion? You may as well be dead. —Gabe H.
Gabe
“Shh.” I pulled her into my arms and dragged her to the couch, then I turned on the fireplace in front of us. I was thanking my lucky stars that I’d had a cleaning crew go through the house and air everything out so we weren’t sitting on dust. “You know, you’re going to give me a complex. I’m supposed to be making it so you don’t cry.”
Saylor sniffled against my chest, not raising her head. “I’m so sorry. I just—”
“What?”
“You found the one. At the right time. The girl you loved. The girl you wanted everything with. You were so brave, so… raw. You gave her everything and…” Saylor’s breath hitched. “Looking at pictures of you guys together… it destroys me, Gabe. It’s not fair.”
I closed my eyes and held her tighter. “I know.”
“It’s not fair,” she repeated. “It’s not fair that I’m here and she isn’t. It’s not fair that you have to show me your house and that she can’t be the one to make cookies for you every Christmas. She’s never going to come through those doors and walk into your embrace. That is never going to happen.”
I fought the tears clogging in my throat. “I know.”
“I feel unworthy,” Saylor whispered. “To see this. To be with you. It should be her.”
“You’re not unworthy.” I stroked her arm. “I’m sharing this with you. You, Saylor.” I pried her away from my chest so I could look into her clear blue eyes. “The thing about life? It never goes as planned. But, right now, in this moment, with you in my arms. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Please believe me when I say that. This moment — it’s a gift. Just by being here, you’re making that pain a little less sharp.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Number four,” Saylor whispered.
“What?” I watched her lips as she spoke.
“Tear number four. You just made up for it.”
“By making you cry more?” I touched my forehead to hers.
“No.” Saylor cupped the back of my head. “By understanding the tears in the first place.”
With a shaky voice I answered, “They weren’t because of me.”
“No.”
“They’re for me.”
“Yeah. A tear for a tear,” she said softly. “Isn’t that what you said?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. I could only nod as I watched the flames lick wildly in the fireplace.
After a few minutes of silence, I looked down at Saylor. Her hot little dress and high heels were still on.
We were alone in an amazing house that I hadn’t visited in four years.
And we were sitting on a couch.
Depressed.