Page 109 of Almost Rotten

God, she’s pretty. I have to force myself to focus on the road as I drive home. It’s too easy to divert my attention, to steal glances.

The freckles across her nose are a little more prominent than when we started out today.

Her smile is brighter, too. Her spirit is livelier.

I did that. I fucking made that happen.

Pride surges through me as warmth spreads through my chest. At my core, I love taking care of people. Not people in general, I suppose. But my people? That’s what I live for.

When I lost Meg, my mom, my dad, and Gran all in one night, I lost so much of myself. They died, and my purpose died right alongside them.

The need to care for someone else—my capacity to nurture and cultivate, to pour myself into something and let the fruits of my labor take root—is coming back.

I didn’t know if it ever would.

I didn’t know if I could ever love again.

But I feel it now. The need to care for Sawyer. The desire to do whatever it takes to be the person she relies on when things feel dark or heavy.

I welcome her darkness.

I want her bad days.

I survived my own personal hell, and my ability to deal with the lowest lows has been forged in the fire of grief and self-loathing.

It wasn’t all in vain.

Because now I’m here.

With her.

In my truck.

Driving a familiar route, trying so fucking hard to keep my eyes on the road in front of me.

But how can I, when the person who makes me feel most alive, the person who’s renewed my purpose, a person I think I might love, is glowing in the seat beside me?

“What?” she laughs. “You keep looking at me.”

God, she has the best laugh. It’s deep and a little throaty. Like it’s rusty. Like she doesn’t laugh as often as she should.

That’s my purpose.

To make her smile just like this. To make her laugh out loud every day for the rest of our lives.

I grip the wheel a little tighter. Refocus on the road. Then steal one more peek.

A million replies to her question run through my mind. Some are too intense. Too truthful. Too heavy to voice when she was breaking down a mere twelve hours ago.

I want to say that I want her in that seat forever.

That I want to be the person she relies on.

That I think I might love her, if that’s okay.

But I can’t.

Not yet.