“How did you get here?” I ask. “I thought I was picking you up at the airport.”
“I got an earlier connection and rented a car,” she explains, still inspecting my body to make sure I’m okay. “I had a weird feeling you were going to try to keep me from here or something.”
Very astute, actually.
I look around, seeing Noah and Jake staring, Kaleb still silent in the kitchen.
“Let’s go back outside,” I tell her.
“Tiernan…” Jake says as I pass, but I ignore him.
I grab my jacket, Mirai’s handbag, and hand it to her as I take her back out to her car, which still sits running with the headlights on. She must’ve bolted from it when she saw Benson’s cop car. She might’ve even passed the ambulance on her way up here, too.
“Is that him?” She looks behind us as I take her back down the steps. “Your uncle?”
“Just come on.” I slip on my jacket.
I should introduce her. We should all sit down and talk.
But I can’t do this. I need to get my head straight before I decide what she needs to know and doesn’t, and too much has happened in the last twelve hours, I haven’t even processed it myself. I need to send her off, deal with Kaleb, and then deal with her.
“I need you to go to a motel in town,” I tell her, stopping at the car. “I’ll come to you in a bit. I’ll meet you there.”
“What?” she blurts out. “No!”
“Please?” I plead, gazing into her brown eyes with those warm flecks of amber. “I need to do something here. Please. Don’t worry.”
“Tiernan,” she starts.
But someone approaches, and I look over, seeing Kaleb open the car’s back door, set my suitcase inside, and close it again.
I freeze.
I watch as he moves to the passenger’s side front door and open it for me, meeting my eyes.
And suddenly, Mirai isn’t here. Jake and Noah aren’t watching from the porch, and I can’t feel the rain that’s turned lighter now, hitting my head.
He’s helping me leave.
He’s telling me to leave.
I stare at him, my eyes burning, but I’m too shocked to cry. He’s drawing a line. The line I was afraid to draw earlier when I packed. I didn’t want to leave.
I just thought I’d give us some space.
Or maybe I hoped he’d find me gone and come after me.
He’s telling me to go, though. He would rather me leave than ever have to say anything to me.
I hold his beautiful green eyes, seeing the emotion behind that he tries to hide, but as I try to search for what to say to solve this—to save us—there are no words left.
Maybe words were never really the problem. Actions speak louder, don’t they say?
And his are loud and clear.
I climb into the car, as if on auto-pilot, quickly closing the door, my insides knotting and twisting, because the idea of leaving isn’t real. This can’t be happening.
This isn’t happening.