Infinite Us(55)

"Ryan, we're not kids anymore."

"Yeah, well, to me you're still that soapy-faced two-year-old jumping out of the tub when Mom went to answer the door."

I smiled, remembering how often Ryan loved to tell that story. He came off good in it. Me, not so much. "Here we go again … "

My brother ignored me, grip loosening on the wheel. "You slipped on the floor, nearly knocked your head on the tub." 

"But you caught me."

Ryan nodded, looking out beyond the windshield and I wondered if he watched Isaac like I did. "I caught you."

He moved his hand onto the seat next to mine and I looped a finger around his, same as we'd always done when we were kids. It never got old, the closeness you feel to a sibling. It never was enough.

"I can't stop you if you want to … "

"It's too late, Ryan." I tightened my finger around his. "I already fell."

He waited to start the engine until I was on the porch with my arms around my waist and my nerve slipping between weak and endless as I decided if I wanted to knock. Isaac had to have seen me leave the car. The Impala had thick doors and closed with a thud that ricocheted around the lake. My approach wasn't silent and neither was the sharp tap against the door when I knocked. The strong scent of roses blew through the air when a breeze moved the fallen dry leaves from the oaks around the porch and I tightened my sweater closer to me, not sure if it was fear or the chill in the air that made me cold.

I counted my breaths as I waited for the footsteps on the other side of that oak door to quiet and when they did, I stopped breathing altogether. Would he be angry that I'd found my way here? Did he blame me for Trent's lies? Would he send me away?

There were bright lights and colors swirling in my head that felt like something I forgot and couldn't quite place. There was music lost in those small seconds as I waited on the other side of that door; like something I loved had been stripped from me and I'd never be rid of the loss, or perhaps the edge of possibility. Everything held and waited with those footsteps and when the door opened, when Isaac's impassive, steady expression shifted, even minutely, I believed that what I'd lost stood right in front of me. It was the strangest sensation-he was there, inches from me and it felt something like longing and need and long released hope had just all vanished from me in an instant. He was here.

I couldn't wait for him to touch me. I didn't want to. He'd been mine, a long time ago and here he was again. It was stupid to feel that way, I knew. It made no sense, but seeing Isaac after just two days apart had felt like years, decades and I wanted to smash the time between us. I wanted to forget it had ever been there.

"Riley … "

I wouldn't let him send me away. I couldn't. Isaac's body went stiff when I lunged at him, grabbing onto his neck with no intention of ever letting go. It took him three of the longest seconds of my life before he surrendered his fight and held onto me, those massive arms around my waist, the sensation of him inhaling my hair and my feet coming off the porch as he held me close.

Isaac set me down and looked over my shoulder, pausing without moving his hands from my waist and I followed his gaze, smiling at Ryan as he watched us.

"He's waiting to see if you'll send me away." Just then, Isaac's grip lowered, resting on my hip, as though he had me, like he had me and had no plans of letting me go. His breath was warm against my neck and I glanced up at him, my body feeling buzzed by the look in his eyes, how he didn't seem able to keep from looking at me like I was real and there and his.

I waved to Ryan and Isaac offered him a nod before he opened the door and led me inside. I heard the car pull away, and then there was only us.

The cottage was nothing more than one large room with river stone fireplace and hand scrapped hardwood floors. There was a small kitchen tucked away in the back of the cottage, and the rich scent of coffee percolated from the back of the room. Two large chairs were situated in front of the fire that crackled beneath a thick wood mantel holding several small picture frames, each one with the thinnest layer of dust. A large bed was pathetically hidden behind a thin curtain. I did my best not to stare for too long at the mattress or think of the untucked blankets and how the entire place smelled of sandalwood and shea butter soap.



       
         
       
        

"You … you were fired," I looked up at Isaac as he leaned against the largest of the two columns, thick masses of hand-sawed beams that held up the entire cottage. His gaze was heavy on me and I fiddled with my hair, pulling it over my shoulder to braid it absently; an unconscious habit. Isaac only nodded, watching with his mouth tight and drawn, like he wanted me to say my piece uninterrupted.