Untethered

27 | Harsh Realities

The atmosphere in the cab of Ryan's truck, as Emma drove the three and a half hours home, was stifling. Not because of the heat, but because of the silence. It was a heavy, oppressive sort of silence that radiated from the man next to her in thick waves until it displaced all of the breathable air. The kind that only became more stifling the longer it went on. She desperately wanted to break it, get some relief from the intense pressure, but it was so thick she was afraid she might choke if she did anything but concentrate on her own breathing. Instead, she let the hum of the tires on the road fill the cab.

Her eyes kept wandering to where Ryan was sitting. Once he had exhausted the torrent of initial emotion, he'd become totally unresponsive. Neither her or her brother could get more than a single word out of him. She'd had to pry his truck keys from his fingers, while Evan stayed to pack up the cabin, promising to follow them once everything was buttoned up.

Initially, she felt torn. She was still angry, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't frustrated about the timing. It wasn't fair that she had to put aside her hurt and betrayal to take care of him, but one glance, and there was no real dilemma. He needed her more. While she was a champ at holding grudges, she wasn't petty enough to deny him the support he needed right now. So, she took a deep breath, shoved her own feelings to the very deepest recesses of her mind, and led him to the truck.

She knew this would keep. At some point, they could return to the conversation of their relationship-if there was even a relationship to salvage. But for now, she was his friend. And, like it or not, she did care for him. If the unsettling feeling in her stomach was anything to go by, she more than cared for him. Never mind that she couldn't say those words-not now. Nevertheless, she instinctively understood that what she was experiencing was more solid, more concrete, than a fleeting emotion, and it wasn't going to just disappear. Not even when she vehemently reminded herself that he had lied to her-after he promised not to.

At about halfway through the drive, she realized that no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't just turn her feelings off like a faucet. They were far more deeply ingrained than that. Somehow, love had crept in, winding itself around her heart, worming its way into the broken cracks and crevices-not just filling a void, but expanding her capacity to love, to feel.

She had always guarded herself zealously, only allowing a select few close enough to know her, while selfishly holding back the most intimate parts of herself. All borne of the inescapable knowledge that no matter how much she loved them, everyone would ultimately leave her in some way.

With each loss over the years, her heart had slowly shriveled up, as she pulled further in on herself, cringing away from any hint of vulnerability. Grandma Edie's death initially had the same effect. It left her weak, out in the open, and while she had remained aloof from the attempts of Greta, and her brother, and even Rosie to comfort her, she'd been blindsided by Ryan. He had doggedly prodded, and pried, and chipped away at her like a rusted out lock, until she finally cracked, insinuating himself into her life inexorably. Slamming the door on her feelings now would be like uprooting a great tree-destroying the landscape, leaving a gaping pit where it used to grow.

And damn him to hell for it, too.

She sighed. The first sound either of them had made since climbing into the truck together.

Why does everything have to be so fucking complicated?

Until they could speak properly, and he had time to process Greta's death-however long that might take-nothing could be done to repair the damage he'd caused. Emma just prayed that she would survive the persistent, dull ache in her chest, in the meantime.