Chapter 89: Chapter 89
Darren
“Fuck, Kimberley. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. I know you’re a good fucking person, and you would never mean that.”
I stroke her hair, pressing my chin to the top of her head and breathing in her sweet, fruity scent. I can smell the laundry too, fresh and clean and warm, and I suck in a deep breath through my nose, rocking her gently from side to side.
She’s still crying, and I wonder how long this grief and guilt has been pent up inside her. I was glad she trusted me enough to tell me about her fight with her mom and her secret belief that she had somehow contributed to her mother’s death, but I didn’t know how to make her see that it wasn’t her fault.
And then I became the world’s biggest asshole and turned on her. And then she moved away.
We never got to have the conversations we should’ve had—the ones where she could’ve let out her pain, and I could’ve taken as much time as I needed to convince her that she wasn’t to blame.
That she said something cruel and stupid out of anger, but that it doesn’t make her a monster. It makes her human.
Maybe if I hadn’t taken her secret and walked out of her life, she wouldn’t still have this gaping wound in her heart.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, my own heart aching for her. “I’m sorry, Kim. I wish I’d been there for you. I wish I hadn’t been such a fuck-up.”
The truth of my own words surprises me, and I tighten my grip on her, as if I’m afraid the universe or my own stupidity will yank her away from me if I don’t hold on with everything I’ve got.
I press my lips to her hair, speaking against the soft strands as if I can implant my words directly into her brain.
“Your mom knew you loved her. I guarantee it. I don’t have to have known her to be sure of that. Anybody who’s lucky enough to know you knows what a fierce spirit you have. How passionate you are. And sometimes passion makes us say and do shit we wouldn’t normally do. Just because you had a fight with her, that doesn’t erase the love you guys had. Nothing could erase that.”
She shudders, still clinging to me tightly as she gasps for air, trying to overcome the sobs that seem like they might tear her apart.
My hands roam her back, rubbing soft circles and brushing down her spine, soothing her with my touch as much as I can.
“You’re a good person, Kim. The fucking best. I’ve always been in awe of your huge heart, and even when the three of us were the biggest assholes in the world, even when we went out of our way to torment you, you didn’t let us break you. You didn’t let us make you hard or bitter. You kept your softness, your goodness, and I don’t know how the fuck you did it, but it makes you a better person than I can ever hope to be. The kind of person your mom would be proud of.”
I can’t even tell if she’s listening, or if she’s absorbing anything I’m saying, but I don’t let that stop me. I keep talking, whispering softly into her hair, telling her all the things I’ve wanted to say for so long. All the shit I held in check because I was trying to have Caden’s back, trying to stand by my friend—by denying my feelings for this incredible woman.
Finally, her sobs subside. And as they do, I can feel tension gathering in her body again. When she was broken down by grief, she let me comfort her, but now that she’s getting herself back under control, I can feel her pulling away.
Fuck.
I don’t want to let her go. I want her to be happy, and I never want to hear such wrenching sobs fall from her ever again, but I know her sadness is the only reason she allowed me to hold her like this.
Sure enough, as her tears begin to dry, she wipes her hands over her cheeks and sits back, leaning away from me.
She blinks at me, her brown eyes glistening, as if she’s trying to piece together how we ended up like this. Then she scrambles off my lap and stands up, quickly bending down to pick up the clothes that spilled from her basket.
She’s still breathless and on edge, and it takes her two tries to pick up a fallen sweater because her hands are shaking so badly.
Ignoring the hole that seemed to open up in my chest when she pulled away from me, I rise to my feet, then reach down and take the sweater from her trembling hand. I lay it over the other clothes in the laundry basket before picking up the few other scattered items. When I put those with the others and then pick up the basket, Kimberley stares at me, distrust washing over her features, like she thinks I’m gonna go dump her clothes into a sewer drain or something.
And whose fault is that? I remind myself. You gave her every reason not to trust you, dickwad. She’d be an idiot to change her mind without any solid evidence.
So I’ll give it to her. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way to prove to her that this isn’t something I’ll ever go back on. That the games and lies and bullshit ends now.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice raspy. I’m sure her throat is raw from how hard she cried, and I’m half-tempted to drop the laundry basket and pull her into my arms again.
But I can’t. She’s wary and angry, and I know if I move too fast, all I’ll do is scare her away.
“I’m carrying your laundry for you, Kim,’ I say simply. “I’m not letting you walk home by yourself like this. We don’t have to talk or anything if you don’t want. But I’m not just gonna walk away.”
She hesitates for a moment, biting her lip. I’m bracing myself for another attack, another flurry of movement or torrent of words. But it doesn’t come. She nods once, slowly, then sets off down the street toward campus.