Page 107 of The Space Between Heartbeats
With the door closed, my place feels so much smaller. It’s Knox. He always takes up space, sometimes in ways I don’t appreciate, but tonight, having him here feels like a lifeline. He’s oxygen and I can finally breathe.
“Sawyer,” he says, his voice still hoarse from sleep. He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair back from my face. I stay completely still, breathing, listening to the click of the air conditioning kicking on, and the humming from my dishwasher.
This is the part where I should be careful. Guard my heart and back away. I know that. I know what it means, him being here in the dark, touching me, and I know I should say something to put distance between us because I have exactly zero defenses left at three in the morning after dreaming about blood and Owen’s eyes and everything we lost.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say.
“Don’t.” His hand moves lower until he’s cupping my cheek. “Don’t ever apologize.”
I swallow hard, not knowing what to do with that response. There’s only one other time in recent years Knox has looked at me this way, soft and reverent. The day of the accident.
“I had a nightmare,” I say, because I need to say something. The silence between us is getting too heavy and I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I let it sit.
“I know.” His thumb traces along my cheekbone. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“It was about Owen.” My voice falters on his name. “And Ella. And…” I stop and swallow. “There was so much blood, Knox.”
The muscles in his jaw tic, and he pulls me into his arms. There’s no words between us, just his hand tangled in my hair, pressing my face gently into his chest. He’s so warm and solid, and his heartbeat thumps against my cheek, reassuring me that this is real. He’s alive, and steady, and in my arms.
One second turns into two and before I know it, I lose count entirely. I need this. I want this. I’ll take this.
His scruffy chin rests on top of my head and his hand moves in slow circles against my back. This feeling I’ve been choking on since I woke up screaming starts to come loose, the way a tight knot does when you finally stop pulling against it and just let it go slack.
I cry fat, hot tears. I don’t mean to, but it comes out anyway, soaking into the fabric of his shirt while he holds me wordlessly. He keeps his arms around me and lets me fall apart.
I’ve had so many chances to be comforted over the last few weeks. Like I told him the other night, everyone wants to be involved in my grief. But every time someone looked at me with that soft, careful pity in their eyes, I felt like a fraud. Like I was stealing something that didn’t belong to me. I was letting good people pour their hearts out, fawning and fussing over someone who kissed her boyfriend’s brother before he was even six feet under.
I never deserved their comfort. Still don’t.
But with Knox, it’s not like that.
He’s not here because he pities me. He’s here because he’s the only other person on earth who understands exactly what it is to grieve Owen the wrong way. To love him and fail him and survive him all at once.
We’re the same, Knox and I. Down here in the wreckage together, equally guilty, equally undeserving.
His arms are the only place I’ve felt anything close to honest in weeks.
When my tears finally slow, I stay where I am. I know I should move, but I don’t. I keep my cheek pressed to his chest, his heartbeat in my ear. The air conditioning clicks off and the apartment goes quiet.
“I keep seeing the bodies,” I whisper. “Even when I’m awake. I’ll be doing something completely normal and then the images pop into my head.”
His hand stills, and his chest expands with a slow breath. “I see them too. Every time I close my eyes.”
I pull back just enough to look up at him. There are shadows under his eyes I didn’t notice last time I saw him. They’re deep and tinged with purple. He’s not sleeping either. Of course he’s not.
“Do you think it’ll stop?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want the truth.
He blows out a warm sigh. “I don’t know.”
“I saw Owen,” I say quietly. “In the nightmare. Not the way I want to remember him…He was—He was gone and…” My throat tightens. “He was looking at me like he knew.”
Knox holds me tighter, letting me go on.
“I know it’s not real. I know it’s just my brain being fucked up. But it felt so real. It felt like he was right there and I had to look at him and there was nothing I could do and I couldn’t stop seeing his eyes…”
“Hey.” His hand moves up to the back of my head, pressing gently. “You’re here. You’re out of it now.”
“I know.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I just can’t turn it off.”
