It’s been far too long since we were truly together. Merciless years since the day we were last wrapped up in the other while confessing our love in Roman’s back yard before being torn apart by the worst of circumstances. Some of which I myself created.
From that point, years ago, to this one, along with all of the hurdles I’ve dealt with in the past eight months, all the obstacles I’ve battled in order to get here, to this point, through her door, feel justified.
But even with her near, she’s not with me. Not yet.
Doubt creeps in when I glance around the kitchen for any obvious place for a note and find nothing. On instinct alone, I know she’s not inside the house. Opening the back door for Beau, a cold gust of wind slaps my face as panic starts to set in.
Did she leave?
Sweat gathers at my forehead as I stare down her Napoléon-complexed mutt as he drops his morning deuce, all the while snarling at me. It’s clear we’re going to have issues, but the bigger one has blood pounding at my temples.
Could I blame her if she did leave?
Yesterday was a big step, but as the high of my sudden appearance wore off and reality set in, I could feel her distancing herself for protection.
Monitoring Beau from the porch, I blow into my hands. With Indian summer fleeting, a cold snap seems to have arrived overnight, much like me, without ample warning. Autumn chill seeps into my bones as I step off the porch and further into the yard, relieved when I spot her. She’s hunched over her garden, a shop light illuminating where she works in nothing but her flannel pajamas and black Uggs.
The urge to touch her, taste her, fuck her, reclaim her, thrums through me—a low-lying demand I refuse to entertain even though I’m aching everywhere, and I know she feels the same need.
It’s who we are.
With us, looking is love, fighting is love, fucking is love, and even now, while we muddle through our collective but distinctly different fears, it’s love.
A fact she refused to let me deny. A fact I’ve come to embrace. The fuel I need for the fight I’m in for. “No matter how we came to be, we were and still are. You stole my heart, and you let me love you with it, and you made damn sure I knew where its home was.”
I need to believe it. I have to believe it. Her words are my driving force. It may have been eight months, but the journey to get back to her has felt like an eternity.
Everything between us has always come down to love, as she so boldly pointed out until I had no choice but to face it fully and give in to the truth.
The truth being that I love her so fiercely, that I can’t stand the idea of letting this drag out another day—fuck, another hour. But I will. For her, I’ll find the patience.
And my demands will be few.
On the drive home, she glanced over at me in the way of a stranger she was trying to understand, posture guarded. It’s the same rigid posture she’s displaying now as she stabs into the dirt with a small shovel. She’s on the offensive.
When I approach, I know it’s just a matter of time before she’ll sense me near. She always has, as I have her.
Beau, the greedy fuck, makes it to her first.
“Hey baby,” she murmurs to her dog, her voice raw, as she takes off a soiled gardening glove to run her fingers down his back. She doesn’t bother to glance my way when she speaks. “Did he wake you?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s freezing out here. I’ll get you a coat.”
“I’m fine.” She slides her glove back on and resumes her work, tossing a patch of dirt to the side before grabbing a container of mixed mums.
“Did you have a dream?” I ask, knowing it’s some of what’s bothering her.