Hold Me (Love The Way #2) - W. Winters Page 0,50

doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t think I can do this. Insecurity weaves its way through me. What about the girls? We’ll make it a cozy night in—we can watch Hocus Pocus and Kelly can read our tarot cards?

In an effort to reassure him, I tell him, Damon knows. I’m surprised by his response.

Where’s Zander?

I lie and tell him, Zander will be here soon.

But where is he, did he tell you to do this?

No, it’s just a part of me getting back to normal. It’s such a lie to minimize it as a line on a checklist. But there’s truth in it too. As my phone continues to vibrate with message after message, I pick up a silver frame from my old dresser. Sweeping off a thick layer of dust that clouds the photograph with my thumb, I peer down at a memory frozen in black and white. I used to call it “our photograph” because it’s the one nearly every gossip column and media outlet used when it came out that we were seeing each other.

In the photo, I’m lying against his chest; I can still feel the stubble lining his chin that rested in the crook of my neck. His teeth are perfect and I remember joking with him that it could be an ad for a dentistry practice. We look happy. “We were so happy,” I whisper to no one. Although my eyes gloss over, I hold it back and it’s easier to do than I anticipated.

Kam continues texting and I let out a small laugh that surprises me. I’m not sure where it’s come from, but I’ll take the lightheartedness over the heaviness that’s come over me.

I’m okay, Kam. I promise I’m okay.

If I text you every five minutes, will you be mad?

No … I think I’d be okay with that.

Good. I’m here for you.

Through the parted curtains, I’m given a view of the storm raging on, the rain rampaging against the panes and a crack of lightning in the distance.

The frame makes a small clunk as I set it down and let out a heavy breath to steady myself. His clothes. I remind myself that it’s not the furniture, it’s not the visual reminders like that photograph, or anything like that that should be stored or donated. It’s his clothes.

That’s the only thing.

Naturally, I turn my back on his dresser and move to my nightstand. The lavender lotion is still there; picking it up, I find it’s nearly full. A vision appears in front of me: the last time I remember using it. In silk pajamas with boy shorts and a matching tank top. I climbed into bed, under these sheets, and he was there, waiting for me.

I’m less careful dropping the lotion and then think it should be something that I toss in this bag, but I don’t. Instead I spot the room spray from our honeymoon. I bought so many bottles of it but barely ever used it. Without touching it, the scent hits me as if bathed in it. The tropical scent of the Riviera Maya.

A sad smile crosses my face when I remember he told me I’d never use it. It was expensive and James couldn’t have cared less. He was right, but he told me to get it, because it would make me happy.

It’s not fair how many little things that are meaningless can bring on so much emotion.

Tears well again, but I hold them back, forcing myself to open just one drawer and get it over with. Just one drawer, clothes that should be donated. Clothes that I don’t need to hold on to anymore.

The lightning strikes closer, and there’s a louder rumble this time. The rain beats down as the drawer scrapes open. It’s a long drawer and I get down on my knees to go through the few pieces that lay in the bottom.

There aren’t many pieces at all. This was our vacation home. We were barely here, so it shouldn’t be surprising but somehow it is.

The first three garments are easy. I toss the shorts and jeans into the bag and I’m able to go through the entire drawer. There’s nothing to keep. Nothing that should stay here.

Sitting on my heels, I lean back and look at the pathetically empty bag and then open the next drawer and the next.

It seems easier and easier as the rain pours down and the lightning lessens, until I get to one piece. One rugby shirt that I hated. God, it