Collared(79)

“Why are you showing me this?” He sits on the arm of the couch, staring at the photo.

I pull out another one and unwrap it. I hold this one out for him to see. It’s an old dance picture of us—cheesy pose, background, and everything. “To show you I’m hanging on to some things from that life. Some of it I’m bringing with me.”

I set down the cheesy dance photo and reach into the box to unwrap the next one. When I pull it out, Torrin’s hand reaches for my wrist, and he pulls me to him.

He doesn’t stop tugging me closer until my leg bumps against his. He takes the photo from me and sets it down. “What part of us are you bringing with you? Just the memories? Or is there room for anything else?”

“Torrin, don’t.” I close my eyes and imagine that armor again, but this time, it’s keeping him out.

His hand around my wrist tightens. “Why not?”

Why? The question that I’d give just about anything to have answered.

When I feel his other hand start to move around my side, my eyes snap open. “This? I can’t bring this with me.” I break away and wave a finger between us. “That part’s over between us. It has to be.”

Torrin rises from the couch arm and moves toward me. His light eyes watch me like he knows I’m lying, and in them, I see him calling my bluff. “It’s not over, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t.” I back around the side of the coffee table.

He matches my every step. I step back; he steps forward. I move away; he moves in.

“Yes, you do because you know it will never be over.” When I trip over the chair leg, he grabs my arm to keep me from falling. He lets me keep moving though. He doesn’t stop following. “Time, circumstance, tragedy—nothing can change that. You and me, there isn’t an over for us.”

“There has to be.” This time I catch myself when I trip over a table leg. “This, it’s killing me, Torrin. I can’t keep doing it.”

I don’t notice the picture rocking on the end of the table. I don’t see it teeter to the edge after I knock into it. I don’t miss it crash to the ground and shatter.

It’s the one of us at the beach. My favorite one.

I stare at the broken pieces and feel like I’m looking at myself if I were made of glass. A hundred sharp, broken pieces that will never be right again even if I could glue them back together. It’ll never reflect what’s hiding below the way it used to.

“What do you want from me, Jade?” Torrin kneels beside the broken picture and reaches for the frame. A piece of glass snags his skin, and his thumb starts to bleed. He doesn’t even notice—he just keeps putting the pieces back in place, one at a time. Patiently. Methodically. “One minute I think I know, and the next I don’t have a damn clue. So what exactly do you want from me?”

I keep backing out of the living room. “I don’t know.”

“Well, do you think you can figure it out? It would sure make my life easier.”

When he looks up, he notices how far I’ve gotten from him. He stands and puts the frame and its shattered pieces back on the table.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” I cry, motioning at him because doesn’t he get it? He’s everything—everything—and I’ve just got nothing left to give. “Any of it? Having these feelings, knowing I’m not supposed to?”

“Will you stop with the supposed to?” He powers across the room and stops in front of me when I’m bracing for him to crash into me. His eyes are burning. “What do you want? Not what you think you’re supposed to want. Not what everyone’s trying to tell you you should want. What do you want?”

I look at him and think about that question. What do I want? I keep looking at him. I don’t think of the person I am or the one he is. I don’t think about what happened to me or what he is. I don’t think about the possibility of it or the practicality of it or consequences and repercussions.

I think about his question—what do I want?

It’s a simple question and an easy answer but a complicated reality. I

“You,” I say, followed by a shrug. “Just you.”

His mouth starts to open like he was all prepared to argue back, but then what I said sets in. He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, seeming to measure the space between us. His knuckles pop as he glances at the door. God, what did I say? What am I doing?

“Just forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.” I cross my arms and move for the door to open it. Leaving would be easier on him if I act like I’m the one suggesting it. “You should just go.”

When I don’t hear him move, I turn around.

He’s staring at the space between us with an expression that makes it seem like he’s fighting something. “Did you mean that?”

I let go of the breath I’m holding and start to pull the door open. “Yes.”

Torrin powers toward the door, and just when I think he’s about to disappear through it, he slams it shut. His body slides in front of mine, and his chest slowly presses me into the door. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

My hands splay against the door when I feel the heat of his body mixing with the warmth of mine. “Are you sure?”

His strong hand grips the side of my neck, and he aligns his eyes with mine. “I’ve been sure about you since I was fifteen years old. And I’ll be sure about you for the rest of my life.”