The Air He Breathes

Late one night, I stood in my closet, staring at all of Steven’s clothes. Inhaling deeply, I began to take them all off the hangers. I removed everything from the dressers. I took everything out of the drawers.

Exhaling slowly, I boxed them up to give away.

Next, I moved to my bed, and I turned my sheets down.

I was ready to fully let Tristan into my life, and I knew that meant I had to start letting go of Steven. In order to truly begin to move on, I knew I had to tell Tristan about the accident. He deserved to know, and needed to know. If he truly meant the words he spoke about fighting for me—for us—then no matter what, we would be okay.

At least that was what I hoped. Yet a large part of me knew we wouldn’t have been okay after this. Our ticking time bomb was growing louder each day.

***

“We need to talk,” I said to Tristan as we stood on my porch. “About when Tanner came over before the wedding.”

“Did he hurt you?” Tristan asked. His hand brushed against my cheek, and he stepped into the foyer of the house, close to me. I stepped back. “What did he say?”

The words were on the tip of my tongue, right there, but I knew if I told him, those small touches would leave me forever. My lips parted to try to make him understand, but I knew if I told him what Tanner had found, I would lose him. I wasn’t ready to let go of the dream we’d been dreaming.

“Baby… Why are you crying?” he asked. I hadn’t even noticed the tears falling against my cheeks. More tears began to form in my eyes, and he stepped closer to me. “Lizzie, what’s wrong?”

I shook my head back and forth. “Nothing, nothing. Do you think… Will you just hold me for a few minutes?”

His arms wrapped around my body, and he held me tight. I breathed in his scent, almost certain that if I told him the truth—which I knew I had to do—I would lose that moment. I wouldn’t be held by him anymore, I wouldn’t be touched by him, I wouldn’t be loved by him. Tristan’s fingers slowly started rubbing my back in a circular motion as I pulled him closer, trying to hold onto something I felt as if I’d already lost.

“You know you can trust me, right? You know you can always tell me anything. I’m always here for you,” he swore.

Pulling away from him, I gave him a tight smile. “I just need rest, that’s all.”

“Then let’s go to bed.” He nodded, slowly placing his hand on my lower back to guide me to my bedroom.

“I mean alone. I just need a night by myself.”

The disappointment swimming in his stormy eyes broke my heart, but he gave me a sad grin. “Yeah, of course.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I promised. “I’ll stop by Mr. Henson’s shop.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sounds like a plan.” He apprehensively rubbed the back of his neck. “Are we okay?” he whispered, his nerves loud and clear in his tone. I nodded once. He wrapped his hands around my head and rested his lips against my forehead. “I love you, Lizzie.”

“I love you too,” I replied.

He flinched. “Then why does it feel like we’re saying goodbye?”

Because I think we are.