“Helping you take a shower.”
“Why?” Pain and confusion lace the question.
“Well, for one, you’re still wearing the clothes you had on at my place two days ago. Also, because I wasn’t lying when I said I love you. This is what love is, Jamie. Good days are magical, but shitty days are going to happen. They’ll happen to me, too. If we’re lucky, they won’t happen on the same day, but if they do, that’s what food delivery and streaming is for.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens, and I take hold of the sides of his head and pull him down enough to kiss it.
“You’ve done more in the last week than any of these bottles have done in months.”
“Doesn’t mean they can’t help you. You need to take them or they won’t work.” He turns me around and stares at me through the reflection in the mirror. “Oh, and youcanmake art. I saw that sketch of me downstairs.”
“I drew that when I came home. The house was cold and empty, and I needed your warmth. I hoped that drawing you would help, but it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t even draw you right.”
“The sketch is beautiful, Jamie. I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself like that, through the eyes of someone who cares about me.”
“I do care about you, Lexi. I care so damn much. But I’m going to fail again. I’m going to fuck this up. I always do.”
“You’ve hardly given us a chance, pretty boy. Now come on, we’ll go one step at a time. You got out of bed. Now let’s shower and see where we can go from there. It may just be back in bed to eat your cold breakfast. I’m here, James, and I’m not leaving.”
His chin quivers and his eyes well with tears once more. He hugs his arms around me and holds me with his head buried against my neck as he cries tears he’s held in for too long.
“I love you, Alexis.”
CHAPTER30
ALL I NEED
??? AWOLNATION
I stand outsidethe door for a while, her hand in mine. I’m not back to my level of normal yet, but I’m getting there. Between ghosting her, the pills, the depression cocoon in the bed, and everything else, I expected her to run away. No one should want to stay with someone as broken as me, but her strength and resilience push me forward. She keeps asking if I want to stop or if this is too much. I can’t remember the walk out here, but I’m standing in front of the garage studio door.
“Why haven’t you opened it since that night?”
“I’m too scared. Too afraid that if I do, maybe I’d let out whatever was left of him. I’d be accepting he was really gone. If I kept this door shut, I wouldn’t have to let him go.”
“Is that why the room upstairs is shut, too? Was that his room?”
I nod as my hand slides down the weathered door, tracing the cracks and imperfections like I’m reacquainting myself to a long-lost lover. Myrealsanctuary—the place where I could flourish and create in peace. I turn to glance back at the house and I can see Chase and Natalie standing by a window, watching.
“I tried to clean out his room after the funeral,” I reply as the texture of the door brings back memories. “I got through his closet and put the things downstairs so I could work on getting a collection put together to donate. It’s what he wanted. He always said when he died, I shouldn’t keep anything but the art that I wanted.”
I take a deep breath and slip the key into the lock, half wondering if it will even open and only a little disappointed at the telltale click as the key turns.
“When I went back upstairs and saw the empty closet, I lost it. I didn’t leave the room for three days. Natalie came to check on me and found me. She said I had passed out at the foot of the bed; she was sure I was dead. I spent two days in the hospital.”
“You have a support system, now we just have to learn how to use them.”
“We?” I whisper, the hint of a smile pulling at my mouth as she nods. She squeezes my hand as I put the key back in my pocket.
“I was like that too, kind of.” She shares. “When my dad died, I wanted to keep everything. I would sneak into their room when my mom wasn’t around and take his shirts and hats, anything I could get away with and shove them into my backpack. I kept it hidden in the back of my closet. I didn’t want her to throw him away. That’s what it felt like when she donated his stuff after the funeral.”
She doesn’t need to be here, doesn’t need to go through this with me. She should be at home or out with friends, out living her life. Yet here she is, clutching my hand and ready to walk right into the room that holds my grief. Ready to take it on with me. One step at a time.
“Lexi…”
“Come on, don’t back out on me now, pretty boy. We can do this. If you want to take a break, we can. But we have to do this someday, so why not today?”
We. She really means it.
Behind the door, time stands still in the room. A cup with brushes sit on the bench he worked at, waiting for his return. Tubes of paint lay beside it at the ready. His palette is on the floor, probably knocked there by a rodent of some sort.
