Cursive - By Phoebe Lane Page 0,95

the back of her throat.

"Oh, no," he whispered. "Aislynn, I'm so—"

"Don't!" she said, and held her palm up. "Please, just…I need to…" Aislynn forced several deep breaths in and pushed her hair away from her face, tugging at it with more force than necessary, but craving the pain. It was a reminder that she was still real and alive. "There's so much more, and it's so hard for me to do this."

Jace took her hand, walked her over to the deck, and sat down in the lounger. Aislynn paced in front of him, her arms wrapped around her center, feeling like her insides were being ripped apart. He didn't say anything; he didn't rush her. He just waited her out. Again.

The first few words are the hardest. Come on.

"I was at the hospital, rounding on a few of my coworker's patients while he was on vacation, when I got the call. They said Christopher had been in a car accident and that he was downstairs in the trauma bay. They didn't have to say anything else—I immediately knew. By the time I got down to the ER, he was gone," Aislynn said, unable to look at Jace.

"He was so…broken. I wish I could go back to that moment, right before I went into that room. I should've never walked in there. I don't want to remember him like that anymore."

"Jesus…" Jace said under his breath.

"I was the one who had to tell his parents, my mom, all his friends, even his business partner. I was the one who took care of the funeral and cancelled all the wedding arrangements…but I don't remember any of it. I have no memory of it at all.

"I finally woke up from the daze a few weeks later. I hadn't been answering the phone or leaving the apartment. I wasn't eating, or sleeping, or taking care of myself, so Ellie threatened to come back to get me. I wish I could say that was what made me snap out of it, but it really wasn't. I just really didn't want to deal with anyone yet at that point. So I got myself up, cleaned the house, got together some of the personal items Christopher's parents had asked for, and started going through all the mail that had accumulated in those few weeks."

Aislynn's pulse spiked once again and the beats of her heart pounded so fiercely in her throat that she felt like she was choking. Her eyesight became blurred, the tears in her eyes making it look like she was staring out the windshield of a car in the middle of a rainstorm.

"I found a letter in the mail…from him," she said, the pressure in her chest unbearable.

"Oh, holy shit," Jace said, suddenly understanding where she was going with this.

"The police did the investigation after the crash and they ruled it an accident. Christopher’s car had hit the medium, he overcorrected to try and avoid the other cars, and ended up driving through the side rail and down the cliff. But the letter—" she stopped, her sobs getting stuck in her throat. "I was his fiancée. I lived with him. I loved him. I was about to marry him, for God's sakes, and I didn't see it! I mean, what kind of psychiatrist doesn't see that her own fiancé is depressed and suicidal? I…I just…I couldn't save him!"

Aislynn wept for a long while, letting out tears she had held back for a year. Jace's arms wrapped around her and rocked her.

"Shhh…It's okay, babydoc. Shhh…" he repeated in her ear over and over.

His voice became the one thing that kept her tied to the present. He eventually guided her back into the house and put her in the shower, the water almost scalding hot. She hadn't realized until then that she had been freezing, blood suddenly recirculating back to the tip of her fingers and nose and making them burn. He got in the shower with her until they both warmed up enough.

"Here, you can wear this," Jace said, and handed her a white terrycloth bathrobe as Aislynn stared at it questioningly. "I got it for you at the hotel in Portland," he explained.

"Thanks," she said and hugged him, his skin so much warmer than hers. She was momentarily lulled by the sound of his heart thumping away in his chest.

They walked out into the living room, and Jace set out two glasses of scotch on the coffee table. "I realize it's early for this, but