Page 85 of Going Viral for Christmas
There’s a pause, and then she gently asks, “You ever write about them? Your parents?”
My throat nearly closes up. I stare down at the wine in my glass. “I used to. But sometimes it got too real, and I needed distance.”
She nods. Questions are swimming in her eyes—waiting to be asked.
With a sigh, I shift to lean against the opposite wall, stretching out my legs. “Truth is… my dad and I haven’t spoken in years.”
Ava stills. “What happened?”
I run a hand through my hair, every word a weight.
“Shit,” she says. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I can’t believe I asked that.”
“Please, I don’t mind. My father didn’t understand why I didn’t want to work at the shop. Or why I quit that job at the ripe age of eighteen to write full-time. Said it was irresponsible. Said I was throwing everything away. We fought. I told him he never supported me anyway, so what did it matter?”
Her face crumples with sympathy.
“I published my first book a year later. I sent him a copy. He mailed it back—shredded.”
“Oh my God, Soren?—”
“It’s okay, Bells. I haven’t heard from him since. I certainly haven’t reached out. I don’t intend to. I think in the end, it was an easy out for him. He wasn’t the most loving parent.” My lids bat against the sting in my eyes. “Sometimes I tell myself I don’t care. That he doesn’t matter. But I do care. And he does matter. It all mattered.”
“You matter,” she says immediately, yanking my attention straight to her. The silence between us grows with each breath. Ava scoots closer.Her voice is barely audible when she adds, “That’s not fair. You deserved better.”
I don’t respond. I don’t trust my voice.
Ava reaches out and touches my arm briefly, causing a spike in my heart rate.
Staring down at where she’s touching me, I let out a quiet breath. She smiles, sad and beautiful. Her fingers curl tighter around my arm, and then my eyes skim over the tiny wooden room, the bottle between us, the girl beside me, and everything in me aches with how much I want her.Us.But I do nothing to ease that ache. I sit in quiet with her, sipping and watching the stars twinkle into existence.
Ava speaks first. “I’m glad you came.”
“You told me.” I shift slightly so our shoulders touch. “And, me too.” I’m not glad in a casual, polite sort of way. I’m glad in the bone-deep, don’t-ever-fucking-let-go kind of way. But her calling me a friend earlier today was a punch to the chest wrapped in a bright, shiny, Christmas bow. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Another small smile is her response.
I need to tell her I want more. That Ineedmore. As always, I chicken out, and instead I say, “I’m sorry for grabbing your leg at dinner. I was only trying to be a safe space.”
The words hang there, pathetic and limp.Safe space?Jesus Christ. Of all the phrases in the English language—hell, of all the ones I’ve written—that’swhat I go with?
For being a New York Times Bestselling Author, I sure as fuck am having issues finding the right words to say to this girl.
Glancing over, her eyes are shadowed with warmth. “Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have left you there. I don’t know what came over me.”
I study her face—defensive Ava is gone. What’s left is more vulnerable. Still lit from within by the flame of whatever that moment between us was, when my palm met her thigh.
“My touch…it did something to you.”
She doesn’t deny it.
“Was it bad?”
“No.” She exhales slowly. “I… I just wasn’t prepared for it.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. “Has it been a while since someone has touched you, Bells?”
After a long few seconds, she finally answers, “Yeah,” her voice a whisper.
