Casting a glance at the group, I note that they are tightly bunched together and talking in low voices. Except for the older woman who was with Jenna when we arrived. I have no idea who she is, and I don’t want to know.

I want to go home and forget about all of this—forget about her. I’ll use the visualization techniques that she taught me to visualize her right out of my mind. Out of my heart. Out of my life.

Passing them, I make my way down the stairs without stopping or even acknowledging anyone. My heart thumps, each beat hurting my chest a little more. I wonder if this is a symptom of the head wound. As I’m still feeling out of it from the medication, I grip the railing to make sure I don’t fall over.

Adam and Mia follow closely behind. They’ve let me know that they do not want me spending the night alone, but when I refused to go to their house, they invited themselves over to spend the night at mine instead. Worse, they’ll be driving me to the local hospital for another MRI in the morning.

Just what I need…as if this crappy situation wasn’t bad enough.

I’m tired and hurting, and I just want to go to sleep and forget about this day.

Yes, I won—but I lost, too. So, so much.

***

I’ve been forced to take time off from my job for the first three days of the week. Sometimes it’s a real disadvantage to work for your annoyingly overprotective—and bossy—cousin.

I spend my spare time at home completely overhauling my art studio and repairing my forge tools. It’s the perfect opportunity to hone my skills by working on the damaged practice armor.

I return to work on Thursday, but I don’t go to family dinner on Sunday. And ignoring the phone is easy to do, since I’ve turned it off completely. Jordan and Adam both check in with me at work, but I don’t meet Mia for our usual breakfast the following Wednesday morning, mostly because she has a lot of studying to do.

Routines have once again become my comfort. But they don’t help me forget. And though I continue going about my regular pre-Jenna routine, it hurts too much to attempt to forget her now.

It hurts too much to attempt anything.

I want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice. I want to feel her touch, smell her smell. I want to lie beside her, our skin touching while I listen to her breathe.

And it’s driving me insane. Because I don’t want to want her as much as I do. I want these feelings to go away. I want things to go back to how they were before it hurt so much.

So I occupy myself with every mundane task that needs to be accomplished. Adhering strictly to my schedule, I keep myself so busy that I hardly have any time to let my mind wander to thoughts that I can’t control.

The following weekend, I spend the entire day in my shop. I can’t create art when my mind is like this, but I can hit things with a hammer just fine. In a strange way, it makes everything feel better.

The forge is going at full force and it’s hotter than an oven. I’m blowing through my supply of wood at an alarming pace as I keep working the bellows. I hear the doorbell when it rings, having rigged it to ring back here, too. Nevertheless, I decide to ignore it.

Minutes later, however, my dad appears in the doorway of the shop, maintaining the distance I request as he watches me work. I continue on, ignoring his presence for a quarter of an hour before dropping my work in the slag bucket. The heated metal hisses on contact.

“Hey,” he says when I finally turn to him.

I remove my goggles and my leather apron, then wipe my sweaty face with a clean towel. “Hi. Why are you here?”

His brows twitch. “Do I need an excuse to see my son? We missed you at dinner last week.”

“I didn’t feel like being social.” Not that I ever do, but even less so than usual.

He frowns. “Okay. But I can still check up on you, right?”

“I’m an adult, Dad,” I remind him as I power down the forge. I’ll have to come back out here to clean up once it’s cooled, but it’s safe to leave for a short time.

“You have anything to drink? It’s hot in here,” he asks.

“There is beer, water and juice in my fridge.”

“Well, then take a break and let’s sit down for a minute.”

I try not to sigh too loudly as we leave the workshop and head through the backyard to the kitchen. It’s obvious Dad wants to talk. We haven’t had many of these one-on-ones lately, but I recognize one when it’s coming.

And I don’t want to push him away. I know he’s worried about me—they all are. It’s better if I just do my best to sweep his worries aside and then things will get back to normal soon.

Normal is key. I need for things to go back to normal.

I reach into the fridge and pull out two bottles of beer, since I know what he likes. I cut a lime and offer him a wedge to squeeze inside. It’s the best way to drink Mexican beer.

Dad thanks me and squeezes his slice of lime into his bottle before cramming the entire wedge down the long bottleneck so that it floats inside the beer—a habit that drives me crazy. I scoff at him and he smiles. “I’m not going to change at my age, Liam. You should know better.”

I take a pull from my beer without answering. We drink in silence for a few minutes before he finally clears his throat. “Adam says you’re back at work already. I wonder if that’s a good idea. How’s the injury?”

Instinctively, I raise my hand to my hairline without actually touching the injured area. It’s still sore, but it’s survivable. “I’m fine. The injury is minor. I get the stitches out on Monday, and that’s the part that’s the most annoying. They are starting to itch.”

“So you’ll be right as rain, physically. How about emotionally?”

I don’t answer. I continue sipping my beer while thinking about how odd that expression is. Dad uses it a lot, but I have no idea how “right” rain can be.

“Liam…do you want to talk about it?”

“We are talking about it.”

“About Jenna.” He’s giving me his serious look.

I sip my beer some more. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to describe what it is I feel. I’m living the same life I’ve always led, but now it feels like there’s a giant hole. Like a huge part of me is missing. During that week before the Festival—when I chose not to see her—I’d missed her deeply. But now…