Chapter 16

Apprehension makes my stomach feel yucky as I walk up to the door to the motor room. I reach for the panel and then pull my hand back. I turn and take a step away but Provyd stops me.

"No, stay," he says.

"I don't care what I told you, I can't do this," I say.

He doesn't answer, but takes my hands in his and gives them a reassuring squeeze. He leans down and kisses the top of my head then turns me back towards the door. I take a deep breath, hold it, then place my hand on the plate. The door opens and I see Jean's back. She has something on the repair bench that she is working on and doesn't bother to turn around.

"Busy," she says.

"Jean," I say, my voice tight and barely emerging.

She stops, dropping the tool in her hand and turning slowly around.

"Kai?" she says, wiping her hands on a dirty rag.

She frowns deeply, blinks, then rubs her eyes as if she can't be sure she's seeing what she sees. I have my hair pulled back in a ponytail which might be it. Or maybe it's Provyd's imposing presence that has her attention.

"Yeah," I say. I force myself to take the first step which is the hardest because the next one happens naturally. I walk over until I'm within arms reach but not too close. "Hi."

"Hi," she says, setting the rag down. "Are you…"

"Okay?" I ask for her and she nods. "Yeah. I am. Look, I, uhm, I'm sorry Jean."

"Sorry?" she asks, "to me? Why?"

"I've been… well a bitch. I'm sorry. I didn't know?—"

She grabs me into a tight hug so hard that it cuts off any further words. I oof as she does then I wrap my arms around her too. We hold each other and she cries. I do too, with my one working set of tear ducts and in this moment all is forgiven.

"Home," I say, waving my arm around the space that is, really, too small for the two of us.

Provyd doesn't seem to mind. He walks over to the bed, pushes down on the thin mattress and looks at me with a raised eyebrow and broad grin.

"Good?"

I shrug uncertain.

"It's kind of small," I say, looking from the bed to him.

He laughs and it causes warmth in my belly immediately. I like his laugh. It has a rich warmth and fills the room with a joy that is infectious. He walks over and wraps his arms around pulling me tight.

"We make work," he says.

"Yeah," I agree. "We will."

And it's true. I still bear the scars, nothing is going to get rid of them, but they seem less. Less important, less painful, and less of a barrier. All of that changed with him. I lean my head back and he accepts my invitation. Claiming my lips in the same way that he claimed my heart.

We move together and put the bed to use. Making it work.