Page 102 of Worth the Fall

I pump harder, for some reason needing to beat him, needing this release I don’t understand.

Our laughter fills the empty park as we race each other. I’m so high now that as I reach the peak of the swing, the rubber seat beneath me falls lax for a second.

I’m not sure how long we race each other or if Grant willingly lets me win, but by the time we stop trying, I’m winded and my cheeks hurt from laughing so hard.

We slowly allow the pendulum of our swings to slow until our shoes are dragging ever so lightly on the sand beneath our feet. And when we come to a complete stop, I rest my head against my hand still holding on to the chain and look over to him.

His hair is mussed, and his eyes are as alive as his smile, but there is something else there that I wait for.

“You want to know why I brought you here?”

“Why?”

“Because the swing set was the last place I remember you before you weren’t happy anymore.”

My lips part as I stare at him, all the vigor we just used to beat each other gone. I think of that day. Of swinging with him on the playground. Of lining up after recess. Of the intercom call. Of telling him I hate him and that I never wanted to see him again.

My throat’s dry, and I’m not sure whether it’s because of the exertion or because of what he just said. The one thing I know for sure is that it’s the first time that I don’t want to run away when he brings up the past.

His reason is actually very sweet. And painful.

And just as quickly, the feeling of betrayal, I don’t expect or know how to handle, comes back with a vengeance

“You lied to me,” I say in a barely audible whisper.

His eyes fall, as does my heart. “I did.” He nods, and the look on his face says he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he had to.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“It’s hard for me to trust you because of that.”

He laughs, but it’s a short, gruff sound that dies almost as quickly as it begins. “I think your lack of trust has nothing to do with me and everything to do with what you’ve been through, Emerson.”

“How do you know what I’ve been through, Grant?”

His head startles in confusion. At least I hope it’s confusion. “I don’t.”

I don’t relent on my stare because the sudden racing of my pulse has me doubting myself and if I should trust him now.

Hating this sudden unfounded uncertainty, I stand from the swing and jog over to the Merry-go-round. I grab hold of a bar and begin pushing it so that it starts to spin. When I think I have it as fast as it will go, I take a chance and jump onto the rusting heap of metal.

It’s moving quickly and spinning out of control, but when I get on, I lie down. With one foot hooked on one side of the bars and my hands holding on to another over my head, I close my eyes and let the centrifugal force commandeer my thoughts from where our conversation brought them. I let the world spin out of control around me while I hold on for what feels like dear life.

There’s a boost to the spin, and I know that Grant is there. He’s pushing me now. I can feel the platform flex as he climbs on and the heat of his body as he lies beside me. I know that when he closes his hand over mine where it holds on to the bar, he’s making sure not to let go for the both of us.

He brings calm to the chaos spinning out of control around me and within me.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I allow myself to accept that.

To accept him.

To welcome it rather than push it away.