The Partner

Chapter Fourteen, "The Ten"

Word Count: 5.9k words  

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I wasn't sure what had brought me here. It had felt like yesterday since I'd shut this door last, even if weeks had passed since. I'd never been able to shut it on that day and I knew that I wouldn't be able to, not fully.

"Babe! Are you ready to go? We're going to be late for the meeting," a voice calls from down below. Gulping hard, my heart stays stuck in my throat at the sight before me. It hadn't been the only one this morning that was hard to swallow.

"Coming!" The upstairs guest bedroom door closes behind me. I can't help but look at it over my shoulder, still unsure of why I had come up here. "We're not going to be late, Harry! When was it that you started to become so anal about being early?"

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, he doesn't attempt to hide the way his eyes roll at my remark. They finally settle on me, registering my eyebrow raise I challenge him with.

"Since you take fricken forever to get ready in the mornings, and the boss needs to be early," he tuts, nodding his head towards the front door. I hadn't noticed before how he holds it open, but now, the spring sunshine is unmistakable. "Come on already. I put our stuff in the car while you were dilly dallying upstairs. What were you doing up there anyways? It took me a few times to get your attention."

We'd long ago passed the time of saying 'thank you's for holding doors open, but habit aside, I still say it. Pulling the seatbelt across my chest, I ruminate on his question as he messes with the radio beside me. I'd become a master at being able to tell when his eyes were on me, and right now was no exception, because when I glance over at him, he's doing just that. The words hesitated on my tongue because at times I still found it hard to talk to him about her. We shared her and the grief around her. There was nobody else in this world who could know how I felt about her besides him, but the struggle persisted.

Avoiding his eyes had been my go-to when I didn't want to answer him. I did it now but it didn't serve me well, because of what I find instead. It seemed that nearly every time my eyes came upon it, it was impossible to not trace the curves of ink. It had lived on the inside of my wrist for over two weeks now and I still hadn't gotten used to it. When I thought that way, I realize I was never one to get used to things. My mother's abuse. Harry's coldness towards me in the beginning, only to be changed into sporadic softness. Then we became friends and something more, and it was hard to wrap my head around. He got hurt and I almost lost him, and it was something I still couldn't believe. It was a recurring theme in my life, especially as of late.

The permanence on my skin is interrupted by the soft edges and lines of his hand. A relief is kissed onto my skin when his fingers lace with mine, his thumb paying attention to the capital letter P in his handwriting on my skin. I don't know what does it but suddenly, I'm looking at the melancholy lifting his lips.

"I don't know but I wanted to look at her things in the nur- guest bedroom. The sonograms and clothes . . to remember that she was real and ours when . . when today I feel like I need to pretend that she wasn't," the words tumble from my lips as my throat feels tight with remembering. "I miss her."

"I miss her too," Harry says with a softness saved for times like these, which seemed to be quite often lately. It speaks louder when his lips press a kiss to the top of my hand. "But we don't have to act as if she never happened, Becks."

"I want to though. Not to act like- I'm just not ready to talk about her with people at work yet. It's almost been two months and I feel like I should be ready by now."

Repeating in and out inside of my head didn't help to steady the breaths trying to swim into my lungs. What did succeed was letting myself live in the unending sage color of his eyes, wondering what the flecks of gold would feel like if I swam in them.