Page 136 of When In Doubt

FREYA

Itwist my fingers in the strap of my bag, trying to slow the thundering of my heart. I look at the dark wood of Oscar’s front door and pull in long breaths. All this time, and I can’t believe I’ve never been to his place before.

Today at the store felt endless, but it gave me plenty of time to think. Even if I don’t always trust my own mind, I have to at least try to trust the evidence in front of me. Oscar’s only ever been good to me and it’s not fair to either of us for me to keep expecting the worst.

My stomach’s in knots and I force myself to keep my feet planted. I can’t hear anything, but Oscar’s truck is in the driveway. What if he’s not here? Maybe I should have called before I came over, but I wanted to see him. I almost lose my nerve, and am about to retreat to my car when I hear footsteps coming from within the house.

There’s a pause, and I assume he’s looking through the peephole. Oh God, what if he doesn’t open the door? What if he doesn’t want to see me? My throat goes tight and I see my knuckles bleach.

I don’t know what’s worse, the silence, or the sound of the lock turning. The door opens, almost painfully slowly, and he’s there.

I see his eyes first, or rather, the hollows underneath them. He looks wrecked. If I thought he looked tired after his wildfire callout, that has nothing on the way he’s looking at me right now.

“Freya?”

“Hi,” I say weakly. I had it all planned out in my head, I was going to explain everything. But, standing in front of him now, I can’t find the words.

He stares at me for a long time, assessing every detail of my face, before he straightens and pushes a hand through his hair.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks. “Would you like to come in?”

I nod, and he ushers me inside.

I’m not sure what I expected his house to look like, but now that I see it, it suits him down to the ground. The front door leads straight into a living room, most of the space occupied by a large rabbit hutch against the back wall, and what’s left is taken up by a massive leather sectional in front of the TV. Pictures hang on the walls, a mixture of photographs and art prints that look like they’ve been collected over the course of years, but they still work together. It’s so perfectly Oscar.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I know you wanted to wait until the weekend⁠—”

“Don’t apologize,” he stops me. “I’m always happy to see you.”

I take in his posture, the way he’s holding himself so rigidly, how he’s not quite looking me in the eye. “Really?” I ask quietly. “You don’t seem sure.”

He tips his head to the side. “I’m just waiting to find out why you came.”

I look down at my shoes, hating how uncertain he sounds.

“Are you here to tell me you’re done with me?” he asks, his voice sounding so desperate that it breaks my heart a little.

“I don’t want to be,” I whisper.

“But?”

I pull in a ragged breath.

“But what if I can’t do this? I don’t know if I can be what you want.”

He comes to me in two long strides and takes my face in his hands. “I don’t want you to be anything. I just want you. I’m sorry I said what I said at the bar. I swear I wasn’t trying to force you into anything, it was just a stupid thing that I said in the moment.” His eyes bore into mine, pleading. “You have to believe me, it was just a mistake.”

“I do, I do believe you.” I grip his wrists. “I’m sorry I panicked.”

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. His grip is tight, like he’s worried I’m going to bolt, but I’m not going anywhere, not anymore. I fist my hands in the back of his shirt and hug him back, my face buried in his shoulder. I inhale his scent and I don’t know how it’s possible to have missed it this much in just a few days, but from the first lungful, I feel settled.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” I croak, my voice thick with tears.

“You’re not a mess.”

“I am!” I protest. “I don’t want to be scared, I just don’t know how to get past it.”

Every time I start feeling more secure, it’s like getting knocked back by a gust of wind. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning with the force of it and I can’t make it stop.