Collared(91)

Torrin’s gaze shifts from the paper to me. “So they look different now than they did when I was looking at that piece of paper?”

I glance at him staring at me. My pencil stops moving. “Yes. You look at me differently than you look at anything else.”

His mouth starts to pull up. “I look at you different how?”

I have to glance away to concentrate on that. I study the horizon, tapping the pencil point against my cheek. “You know that feeling of something missing? You don’t know what it is exactly, you just know it’s not there? That hollow spot inside that you don’t know what to fill it with, you just know it’s empty?” When I notice him nod, I turn my head so I’m looking at him. I never want to look away. I never want him to look away, because I feel the same thing when I look at him. “That’s how you look at me. Like I’m your what’s not there. I’m what fills that hollow spot.” I lower the pencil because I don’t need to get the sketches right anymore—not when he’s right in front of me again. “That’s how you look at me.”

He leans in closer, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I tip closer too. We don’t stop moving until the breeze is whipping my hair against his cheek and tangling it in his stubble.

“I look at you like that because that’s exactly what you are. You fill all my hollow spots. You’re my what’s missing.” He lets that settle between us, letting a little more of me get tangled up in him, then he slowly leans back.

I stay where I am because I’m not ready for this moment to be over. I hold on to it until it’s floated so far away I can’t see it anymore.

“How was your day?” he asks softly, but I don’t miss the concern buried in his voice.

He’s been “concerned”—a.k.a. freaking out—ever since I told him about agreeing to the interview. I didn’t tell him about the cemetery visit though. I didn’t want him worrying about today any more than I knew he already was.

“Let’s see. It was exhausting, relieving, emotional . . . pick an adjective, and that probably sums up how today was.” When I lean back, I spread my arms behind me, crossing mine beneath his.

“So this would probably be a pretty great time for a birthday present, right?” Torrin looks at me from the side, his eyes excited. He’s still a kid when it comes to birthdays, and I love finding that out about him. I love every new thing I learn about him and everything I remember about him from before.

“This wouldn’t just be a good time; it would be an ideal time,” I say, glancing at him from the corners of my eyes.

He’s grinning, but his grin fades a little when he leans in closer. The candle still flickering below us catches the lights of his eyes. “I love you.”

My head turns, and I feel my eyes widen. “Torrin . . .”

It’s the first time he’s said it like this. It’s the first time he’s said it since the night I disappeared.

“I didn’t think it was a secret.” He looks me straight-on and doesn’t look ashamed. He doesn’t look like he’s said or done anything wrong. “I told you I loved you for the first time thirteen years ago. It didn’t come with an expiration date. It never will.”

The breeze whips around me and feels like it’s trying to lift me up. “I thought you weren’t allowed to love someone like that anymore.”

“My job is to love people.” He stretches his legs in front of him and stares at the ocean. “There’s no line drawn between who I can and can’t love. The calling is to love all people.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I just might not mention I happen to love you a little or a lot more than the rest.”

I stare at the ocean with him until I feel the waves churning something inside me too. “Those journalists have accused me of being your forbidden mistress, your submissive, and everything in between, but they’ve never printed the truth.” I taste the words in my mouth first, testing them. They feel right. “The woman who loves you.”

His head turns, and he watches me for a moment. “I’m ready, Jade. To walk away, to start a new life. For whatever comes—good and bad. I’m ready.”

“I know you are.” I dig my toes into the sand. Delaying the inevitable for two more seconds. “But I’m not.”

He exhales slowly, but he doesn’t say anything else because I think he knows. I’m healing, but there’s still more to do. Some days it feels like the more I fix, the more I realize is broken. Those are the bad days. The good ones are the days I remind myself that no matter what, everything can be fixed. Those are the days that get me through the others.

“I’ve been through a year of intensive counseling, some serious soul-searching, daily meditation, and some really sad attempts at yoga.” I nudge him. “And I still know something’s missing. I’m not whole, and until I am, I won’t let you give everything up for me.”

“I want to give up everything for you. Broken, whole, I don’t care.”

I take a slow breath. I know he can and does love me exactly the way I am, but his end of the love equation isn’t the problem—it’s mine.

He kicks at the sand. “You’re whole already,” he says, looking at me like he’s trying to prove it. “I know that. But I can wait for you to figure it out on your own. I’m really good at waiting.”