Page 88 of From Ice to Grace
That thought alone was freeing on so many levels. Like skating onto fresh ice when the rink is empty.
I drag a hand down my face and kick the cushions into the perfect position. I should’ve grabbed my bag before I allowed Avah to shut herself in the room with all our things. This place has three bathrooms. I could’ve showered, cooled down and maybe unwind. Instead I’m stewing in my wedding suit.
On my wedding night.
Without my wife.
She went all out on me. I have no idea why she felt the need to drill down on things I don’t want to talk about. We had a great day. We chose an amazing place in Brooklyn, one that I know she loves because her eyes lit up the moment we stepped foot into it.
Yet, the second she opened that bedroom door…it must’ve been the roses or the candles that set her off. Because the moment she turned, she let me have it. And I was more than happy to oblige…and I probably always will be. I’m not scared of her anger or her emotions. She can bring it, I’ll meet her swing for swing.
For the first time, I don’t want to stay there. Not with her.
Because today we proved that we could be something else. We can do more than just clash all the time. We can stand side by side, like it costs nothing. Choosing our home, spending time with our friends, letting the realtor call her my wife…it felt good. Natural.
Like maybe we didn’t always have to fight to keep this thing between us alive.
I probably won’t admit this to her out loud, but I want more of that. Not just the constant raging storm between us, but rather the calm after it. The moments where her laughing eyes find me, or her hand slips into mine. A quiet truce between the two of us, one that doesn’t feel so empty.
A small sound coming from behind the bedroom door draws my attention. Just as I’m about to write it off as my imagination, I hear it again. Getting up I slowly approach the bedroom door. I hesitate to knock and end up placing my ear against the wood.
I can’t hear much. Then…it’s unmistakable. She’s crying.
‘Father God…’ the words are faint but filled with hurt.
‘I’ve been lost…’ she trails off, her voice too quiet for me to hear.
Then, ‘Please guide Declan…and me. We need Your grace…’
She’s praying.
She’s praying for me. For her. For both of us.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning back like her prayer might burn me. I shouldn’t be listening to her personal prayers. Besides, I don’t have to listen to every word to know that she is praying for God to help me. She thinks I’m in need of divine intervention. And why would she think anything else? I left her thinking I’m out here halfway through a bottle of bourbon. I’ve never given her a reason to think differently.
I drift back to the couch and drop onto it, staring up at the ceiling. I feel unsteady, like trying to get up after taking a hard hit. My throat tightens, my chest burns.
I know my Aunt Kat prays for me. She’s always prayed for me and she’s never kept it a secret. I took it for granted, because that’s just who she is. She’s family. She looks out for me. Just like she’s been praying for my dad all these years.
But hearing Avah pray for me?
Why would she do that? Does she care enough to talk to God about me?
And the bigger question, the one that has a knife twisting in my gut: Is God listening to her?
Suddenly I feel…exposed. Like there’s a light shining on everything I’ve been trying to hide in the dark.
I hear a click and my gaze shifts to the bedroom door. She’s standing there wearing tights and an oversized Rangers sweatshirt. Her light hair, now loose over her shoulders, is curled and twisted from the braid she wore the entire day. Her eyes are red-rimmed and I fight the urge to get up and pull her into my arms.
Her eyes flick between me and the bar counter, where the drink is still sitting untouched.
“Are you alright?” I ask, my voice low and hopefully filled with an apology because I don’t know how I’m going to get words out with this woman.
“You didn’t drink it?” she asks, slowly making her way toward me.
I shake my head. “I didn’t. I didn’t need to.”
Relief spills into her features. She moves closer with determination.
