Page 7 of Saving Saul

She hesitates, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter and more vulnerable. "Sometimes, I wonder if she chose to leave." The words are laced with something sharp—hurt, confusion, maybe even anger. "Or if... something else took her away. Sometimes, “I wonder if that thing could take me away too.”

Never…

I exhale slowly, pressing my forehead against the wall. Her words settle like stones in my gut. She’s piecing it together aloud, offering me a glimpse into a story I know she doesn’t share lightly.

"Either way," she says, her voice breaking slightly, "she was gone. And all that was left was this… emptiness."

My throat tightens. I want to go to her, hold her, and tell her she doesn’t have to carry this alone. But I can’t. Not yet. Not here. All I can do is listen; every fiber of my being is focused on her voice.

"Losing someone that way—it’s like trying to grasp smoke," she murmurs, and I hear the faintest waver in her tone. "You can’t make sense of it, and it never really leaves you. It’s just always there. A wound that refuses to heal."

I rest my hand against the wall again, wishing it weren’t there. Wishing I could reach through and hold her. I understand that kind of pain—the kind that lingers and shapes you in ways you don’t even realize until you find yourself on the other side of a wall, listening to someone else pour out their heart.

"Tessa," I say, my voice rough, "you’ve been carrying that your whole life, haven’t you? That not knowing, always wondering. It’s a different kind of pain, but it’s just as heavy. And you’ve been carrying it alone."

She doesn’t answer right away, but I can hear her breathing, shaky and uneven. "Yeah," she finally says. "I guess I have. But so have you, Saul. Losing your mom like that... it’s not something you get over. It stays with you. Shapes you."

"It does," I admit, running a hand over my jaw. "But I think it also makes us... different. People like us know what losing something you can’t get back is like. We know how to keep going, even when it feels impossible. And maybe that makes us stronger.”

She lets out this little laugh, shaky but real. "Or maybe it makes us better at pretending we’re strong."

Her words pull a low chuckle out of me, soft and genuine. "Maybe. But sitting here, talking to you? It doesn’t feel like pretending. It feels like I can just be me for the first time in a long time."

I press my hand to the wall like she can feel it on the other side. "Same here," she says, her voice warm and sure.

At that moment, the wall doesn’t feel like a barrier anymore. It feels like a bridge that connects us instead of keeping us apart. For the first time in years, I don’t feel alone in my pain. And from the sound of her voice, neither does she.

A LIGHT IN MY LIFE

SAUL

My second datein the hub with Tessa starts just like the first. After a good night’s sleep and a freezing shower this morning, I was determined to stick to my rules and not open up too much.

I can’t believe I told her about my mom on the first date. I’ve never talked about that, and afterward, I felt exposed.

But then she came in, talked about anything and everything, and brought down every wall I tried to rebuild.

And I loved every blasted minute of it.

She’s just so bloody excited about everything. Usually, that annoys me. But Tessa’s exuberance is genuine, not a show or misguided coping mechanism. She’s genuinely a joyful person who’s been through some shit in life, and that’s rare.

Since our first date, I have thought about her increasingly—not just during our late-night conversations but also in those quiet moments of the day when my mind shouldn’t be wandering. Her laughter echoes in my thoughts, a melody so sweet it’s almost addictive. Her passion for acting, love for New Orleans and talk about her city as if it were a living, breathing entity feel so bright and real.

Yet, it’s still not enough. I daydream about seeing her in person and hearing her voice without the cold barrier of thesehub walls. What would it be like to watch her lips move as she speaks and see her eyes light up when she laughs? I think about it all the time.

In my dreams, she’s even more radiant. We’re walking through the French Quarter, her hand snug in mine, her laugh mingling with the street performers’ music. The air hums with life, and every glance she throws my way feels like a secret meant only for me. I dream of us in her kitchen—her fingers nimble as she chops vegetables, the scent of spices wrapping around us like a warm embrace. I’m stirring a pot of gumbo, stealing glances at her, wondering how the universe managed to get this moment right.

And then there are the kisses. Flippin’ heck, the kisses. Her lips feel soft, warm, and perfect against mine in my dreams. They are the kind of kiss that doesn’t just linger on your lips but settles deep in your chest, filling every hollow space you never knew existed. When I hold her, our bodies fit together in a destined way—like the stars aligned to bring us to this moment.

I can feel the weight of her body against mine, the heat radiating from her skin as her breath mingles with mine. It’s maddening, this ache for something that has only ever existed in my imagination. But if dreams are a glimpse of what’s possible, then maybe—just maybe—I’ve found something worth chasing. Something worth holding on to. Someone worth everything.

Today, we’re at the start of date three, and something she says makes me pause.

“Saul, all the girls in the house talk about how you’re not just some washed-up rugby player who became a chef. You’re the face of the sport internationally, and you have endorsements with every major brand in Europe. They say you’re practically a billionaire. Is that true?”

The accusation in her voice is subtle, but I catch it. I sit up. “I didn’t lie to you, Tessa.”

“I didn’t say you did. But you also didn’t share the whole truth either. I get it. The way those women spoke about you in the house made it sound like you were just a big fish to catch. They act like you're not a real person with feelings, dreams, and aspirations to find love and partnership. But I want you to know I would never be the kind of woman to connect with or choose a man for his money. My daddy may not be here anymore, but he always took good care of me, even after his death. You could have told me, and I would have treated you the same way.”

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