My stomach clenched.
He wouldn’t, right?
His eyes were clear.
The bottle was full.
But he looked—so lost I didn’t know what to do.
“Go,” he rasped. “It’s better this way.”
Why? Why did he always make my heart twist like I was abandoning him when he was never mine to begin with?
I chewed my bottom lip.
Cursed him to hell about a million times, then promised myself this was it. I’d sit next to him. I’d refrain from strangling him to death. And I’d at the very least be another body in that sad, depressing kitchen, as he sat covered in dirt.
“I think—” My knees cracked as I sat down next to him, careful not to sit in a pile of dirt, and curious why he was clutching flowers in his right hand with a death grip while he had whiskey in the other. “—that the Sunday school teacher better stay since clearly, her unruly student can’t even keep his hands out of the dirt.”
He visibly tensed. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry,” I fired back.
“It’s a habit.”
“A really, really shitty one,” I pointed out.
“That, we can agree on,” he answered.
Silence blanketed us, and then I just had to know. “Were you burying a body or digging one up?”
His head lolled forward a bit in what I could only guess was extreme exhaustion as he blew out a breath and whispered, “Neither, actually.”
I frowned. “Then why all the dirt?”
“I was digging up flowers, with my bare hands, mind you, no time for tools, I had to feel the soil—it’s what I do every time—I have to feel the life slip between my fingertips, I have to let it remind me, you know?”
My heart sunk. “Ash… why were you doing that? Is this a new hobby?”
He frowned. “Real shitty hobby for a hitman, am I right?”
“No. Maybe it grounds you. Get it? Ground? Dirt?” I elbowed him.
He sighed. “You shouldn’t be here; I just hurt you. I know that. You know that. Eventually, the world will know that, because I can’t stop, Annie. I can’t fucking stop.”
“Maybe it’s because you need someone to hate. And…” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, but I said them anyway. “Maybe I’m that person. Maybe I’m the one you need to hate to get through this. I’m not saying I enjoy my role in your life, but if it helps, I can do it. I’m strong enough. I know that now.”
He lifted his head and turned it, his blue eyes flashing with something other than anger; he leaned in, setting the whiskey down, he touched my face with a dirty finger. “That’s the saddest thing I think I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve heard sadder.” I gulped.
He shook his head. “It shouldn’t be you. It’s like butchering the perfect white lamb when there’s a shitty tiger close by.”
“Who’s the tiger, then?” I asked.
“Tank. I’ll kill him.” He shrugged, and then a ghost of a smile appeared across his face. “I’m kidding, you know.”
“Glad you clarified.” My voice cracked.
He dropped his hand. “You should come.”
“Come?” I shook my head and then looked around. “Are you planning a scavenger hunt or something?”
His laugh was full of pain, but it was still a laugh. “God, I wish. That sounds so much better.” Slowly, he moved to his feet then offered me his hand. “Come on.”
I didn’t want to trust him.
But something in his eyes said I was the only one who could go wherever he was going and that this moment would pass by and if I didn’t take his hand, regardless of all the times he’s hurt me—I would regret it for the rest of my life.
So I trusted.
Again.
I put my heart in his hands.
Again.
My safety.
My sanity.
Our palms touched. He didn’t let go. He squeezed my hand, and then we were walking out of the kitchen, out of the back yard across his property.
“You own all this?” I asked.
It was pitch black, nearly impossible to see. He still clutched the flowers in his right hand and walked as if he knew the path by heart as we made our way across a well-kept field and then into a small, wooded area that seemed magical, possibly man-made.
We passed an old white chapel.
“I was going to marry her there.”
I let out a gasp, tears welling in my eyes as a path appeared; it was lit with lights as if planned.
“She wanted to get married at night with jars of lightning bugs; I thought it was complete bullshit. I mean, a man can only go so far, but she begged me. We didn’t have a church outside the city…” We finally passed the church, and I noticed a plaque in front of it. “Claire’s Chapel.”
My breath caught as a tear slid down my cheek. “You dedicated it to her?”
He stopped and stared up at it. “Nah.” He sighed. “I built it.”