53. Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Three

Indy — Now

I gripped the handle and slid the shed door open, goosebumps dusting my skin at the sound of grinding steel. Nolan’s gaze slid to mine from where he sat at his worktable, a look of surprise in his eyes. But it wasn’t an unwanted surprise, as I swore I heard him whisper under his breath: you’re home.

Yes, Nolan. I’m home .

“Are you here to get Genny?” He set a wooden box on the table, turning to face me in his chair. “I texted and offered to drop her off at your parents’, but you must’ve missed it.”

I shook my head, walking toward him. I hadn’t missed his text. “I’m not here for Genny.”

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

I set my hand on his shoulder and climbed onto his lap, maneuvering myself so my legs were dangling to one side of his. His arms banded around me, one hand cupping my knee and the other my hip. “I needed this.”

“It’s late,” he murmured, his lips against my temple. “Let’s go inside and go to bed.”

“No.” I leaned deeper against him, further burying my head in the crevice of his shoulder. I didn’t care if my eyes were heavy and my body ached—I didn’t want to sleep. The fact Nolan was in his shed and not his bed told me he felt the same. “I want to stay here.”

His chest lifted with a laugh. “Okay. We’ll stay here.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the softness of his T-shirt against my cheek. He wore a pair of loose sweat shorts and house slippers, different from what he typically wore to carve. There were no pieces of lumber or tools on his table, nothing but a wooden box. He hadn’t come out here to work.

I eyed the box carefully, having seen it in passing several times. Nolan hadn’t shown it to me, but I knew what it was without him saying. It was warped, the stain uneven. The lid was too small, only covering three corners of the box. It was the first piece he’d made in his woodworking journey—when he’d taken his grief and shaped it.

“Do you keep anything inside of it?” I asked, unable to quiet my curiosity any longer.

The moment seemed to still, nothing but the sound of our breaths and the wind dancing through the trees outside. Instead of answering, Nolan leaned forward and grabbed the box before easing it into my hands.

I sat up and twisted on his lap to face him, as though needing further confirmation. His throat bobbed, and I’d bet if I put my hand to his chest, his heart would be rampant beneath my palm. The box was rough in my hands, splinters poking my fingers. But even with its imperfections, it felt like I was holding something sacred.

Sensing no hesitation on his end, I peeled the lid off. My stomach dropped at the whiskey bottle wedged inside. It was unopened, the amber liquid sealed behind glass. Not wanting to focus on it, I removed the bottle and set it on the table. Whatever heartache the alcohol inflicted vanished at the sight of what remained in the box.

There were pictures. Pictures of me, as well as Nolan and me together. There was a picture of us holding Genny, the three of us beneath a Christmas tree. It was from our first and only Christmas together as a married couple. There was a baseball stored inside. One of my old bandanas. A bag of Lucky Charms. Glow-in-the-dark stars. Our wedding bands. The more I sorted through the box, the more it felt like a key to the past.

“Why do you have a bottle of whiskey?” I asked, not understanding why he’d keep it if he no longer drank.

“Before, when I was stressed out or down, I’d reach for the bottle. I thought I needed it.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “It sounds kind of dumb . . . but when I feel that way now, I like having the bottle around. Like knowing it’s available, and if I wanted to, I could reach for it. I could numb myself. But I don’t, and it’s not because there’s no alcohol around to tempt me. It’s because I made the choice not to. Makes me feel not so weak.”

I nodded, feeling like the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. I understood his logic. I understood how this could make him feel stronger. But I’d never thought of him as weak, and there was one thing I didn’t understand. “Why store it in this box?” I asked, my voice careful. “Why with these . . . pieces of your life?”

He looked at me like he thought the answer was easy. “So I don’t ever forget what picking up the bottle cost me. I want to remember everything I lost.”

Something in me broke as I realized it wasn’t sorrow in Nolan’s eyes, it was acceptance. He’d accepted that those parts of his life were gone, unreachable to him. The longer I stared at the box, the more I understood and the more my heart shattered.

Our marriage. Me. There was even the braided grass bracelet he’d snatched a few weeks ago. A dried golden flower from our garden. These pieces of his life still existed, yet he’d accepted they were already gone.

As though he didn’t deserve them.

“They don’t look so lost to me.” He didn’t respond, and I didn’t expect him to. His silence was answer enough, confirming my thoughts. It was the same thought I’d had when he told me he’d accepted his mom leaving. Leaning away from him, I set the box on the table before I faced him again, releasing a steadying breath. “I need you to do something for me.”

He dipped his chin, not even asking what it might be. “Anything. ”

I smiled softly, glad to hear it. “I need you to resize the flower boxes you made so they’ll fit our house windows. I already measured, and they’re an inch too big.” His frame tensed, and if I peered deep into his eyes, I could see not only the recognition forming, but his walls building too. They were the same walls he’d had up when he’d given me the flower boxes. Even when he suggested I go back to New York early.

He could build all the walls he wanted—it wouldn’t be enough.

I ran my fingers through his hair, ensuring every bit of his gaze was on me. “I love you, Nolan . . . and I’m staying.” I pressed my lips to his, quieting the panic that was surely there, and repeated, “I’m staying.”

“Indy . . .” His throat bobbed. “You’re not. You can’t .” The disbelief in his voice was enough to cut me open. “You have your interview. A job waiting for you in New York.”

“I don’t.” They wouldn’t see the email I’d sent until the morning, but it was a done deal. “I asked them to remove me from consideration.”

His eyes widened as though I’d lost my mind. But I’d never felt more sure in my life. “You can’t, Indy . . . This was only supposed to be for a month. Your future isn’t here.”

“I decide where my future is.” I grabbed his hand, holding on through every word. “I’m not asking for permission, Nolan. You told me I didn’t have to. You said to take up the whole damn world. And this is where I want to be.”

He shook his head. “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?” I pressed, my tone harder than before. Not because I was angry, but because I refused to let him do this. Not again. Feeling him shift beneath me, I straddled his waist, stopping him from getting up. “Tell me why I can’t be here. If you don’t love me, tell me now.”

It didn’t matter if I hadn’t heard those words from him in nearly a decade—Nolan loved me. I felt it.

“Of course I love you,” he whispered, the promise of his words brushing against my skin. “Loving you has never been the problem, Indy. ”

Warmth radiated throughout me, his words a relief. No matter how confident I was in his feelings, there was no denying how amazing it felt to hear it. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Because I’m always going to need you more than you need me.” His gaze roamed my face, as if he believed our time was coming to an end and he had to absorb every detail. “Please don’t think I’m being self-deprecating. I’m just stating the truth. I have depression, Indy. I’ve had it since I was a kid—you know that. And it’s not going away. There’s no cure. I’ll probably be on medication for the rest of my life. And I’m okay with that.” His fingers skimmed my jaw, tender affection there. “But I’m a burden. Almost every single day one of my brothers checks in to make sure I’m okay, and that’s because they’ve watched me not be able to pick myself up . . . And you’re always going to put me ahead of you. You did it before and you’ll do it again. Maybe that would be okay if I gave you something in return, but I have nothing to offer you. I already drained the life out of you once before. I refuse to do it again. You deserve so much more.”

It would’ve hurt less if Nolan had told me he didn’t love me.

He was right. Nolan hadn’t confirmed it until this moment, and I might’ve not known the term for it until I was older—but I’d known he had depression. Knew the silent weight he carried. He hadn’t hidden that side from me. But that hadn’t stopped me from falling in love with him. Even before now, when he’d told me he’d been in therapy and was on medication, I didn’t think anything of it. It didn’t matter to me. Not because I didn’t care, but because it didn’t change who he was.

This was why he hadn’t pressed for more, had accepted it when I told him I couldn’t give him more than a month. Why he hadn’t asked me to stay. Why he’d pushed for us to go our separate ways all those years ago. Even why he broke our promise and asked for a divorce.

He truly believed he deserved to be left.

Eyes burning, I cupped his jaw in my hands. “I think you forget: I didn’t fall in love with the boy on the baseball field, playing under the bright lights.” I pressed my forehead to his, praying he’d see how much he was worth. How much he’d always been worth. “I fell in love with the boy I found in the dark.”