Chapter Three

 

Ireland

Men were worse than women when it came to my ongoing battle. In my mind, it made no sense. Dr. Kelby had attempted to explain the logistics behind it, but I didn’t buy it. She’d tried to tell me that men were seen as more dominant and aggressive whereas women were categorized as the meeker species. Mild-tempered and nurturing. I was six feet tall and two hundred and ten pounds of solid muscle. Men didn’t intimidate me. Period.

But, whatever the case may be, it was abundantly more stressful allowing a man to invade my personal space than it was for a woman. And it wasn’t by choice. I had zero control over my reactions. For that reason, most of my friends—which weren’t many—were women. Also, most of my relationships—which also weren’t many—were women. Men were harder to get close to and had proven a lot less patient with my quirks.

From the moment Raven showed up that morning, he’d been nothing more than friendly and agreeable, but he’d triggered a horrendous reaction the minute our eyes locked. Something about him warned me he was handsy and perhaps unpredictably so. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d slap you on the shoulder as an act of comradery or turn a handshake into a hug with a pat on the back if you were a close friend. There was nothing wrong with that, except sensing those things in a person often made me feel threatened.

Between Julia nattering in my ear over possessions and being on alert with the hovering mover, I’d exhausted myself before lunch. My sugars dropped unexpectedly, which only succeeded in adding more problems into the mix, so I’d needed to suck down a juice box to level them out so I could make it until lunch.

I grabbed food on my way to the first-floor apartment I’d managed to rent in a scuzzy neighborhood near Dewhurst’s downtown area. All the effort Julia and I had put into saving, buying, and furnishing a house just for me to end up with next to nothing and renting some shithole room on short notice. I knew I could afford better, but I hadn’t been gifted enough time to make it happen. It was sad how your best friend could become your worst enemy overnight. All we’d shared, all we’d been through, then, it was like someone had flipped the lights off on our relationship. Poof, gone.

As I stood in the middle of my empty apartment, I tried to find the positives. There was no evidence of a rat or cockroach infestation. The walls had a fresh coating of paint—even though the carpets were stained in a few places. The kitchen came with appliances. There was a laundry room off the lobby on the main floor of the building. The apartment was small, which meant it wouldn’t take a whole day to clean like the house used to.

“It sucks,” I muttered out loud as I spun and surveyed the evidence of water damage on the ceiling.

Because I’d wanted freedom without a fight, I was now without a couch and without a kitchen table. Although I’d managed to talk her into having our second TV, the rickety entertainment unit I’d been allowed made me nervous, and I didn’t have brackets to fix the TV to the wall. A rather expensive shopping trip was in order once I got my few belongings situated.

The movers arrived just after noon. The unloading seemed to take even less time than the loading had. They emptied the truck in no time while I stayed out of the way, making lists of all the things I needed to purchase. Cleaning supplies were on the top of the list when I’d opened the fridge and viewed the unwashed, moldy interior.

Most of the boxes had been brought in already and were stacked against the wall in the living room. I pulled open a few and moved kitchen supplies to the kitchen just as the men carried in my bed frame.

I watched them skillfully maneuver the tight corners in the hallway without making a single mark on the walls. Next came the box spring, then, the mattress. Ricky flew out the door again, but Raven hung back, scanning the apartment before smiling across the room at where I stood by the boxes.

“It’s a dump. I’m aware. She didn’t give me a whole lot of notice,” I explained, figuring he was in the process of judging me and my shitty apartment. Especially knowing where I’d come from.

“Ex-wife?” Raven mopped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt, exposing his sweaty abdomen and the slick of dark chest hair that covered his hardworking, toned body.

“Girlfriend.”

“Probably better that way. Less of a legal battle, right?”

“Sure.”

Looking at my situation, it didn’t feel like a divorce would have been worse. Probably much the same.

“Were you together long?”

I pulled another kitchen box from the pile and carried it toward the small enclosure at the back of the apartment. “Two years.”

“Long enough.”

He followed behind me and stood in the doorway, blocking my exit. I didn’t want to turn my back on him in case he decided to come closer, so I left the box I’d intended to unpack and leaned on the counter, instinctively wrapping my arms around my body protectively.

“Ricky is just grabbing the paperwork for you to sign then we’ll be off.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll um…” Scanning the empty room, I tried to think if I had a pen handy.

Raven’s phone rang, and he popped it from his pocket, checking the screen. “Sorry, excuse me.” Thankfully, he retreated to the living room to answer it.

Not wanting to be stuck again in close quarters with the potentially unpredictable stranger, I followed him into the larger living space and waited by the door for Ricky and the papers I needed to sign as I tried not to listen to Raven’s end of the conversation.

“Next Saturday? Yeah… No, man, I’ll be free in about twenty minutes, so I can swing by and talk to the owner… The guys are good with that?” He threaded fingers through his locks, holding them back off his face as he paced the empty room. “Fuck, that’s awesome. Yeah… tonight at six. Cool. Later.”

Just as he hung up, Ricky came through the door with a clipboard and pen. He passed it off in a safe enough manner, I grabbed it and stepped away from the two men to sign the required forms.

“G just called,” Raven said to Ricky. “I need to swing by Bottoms Up and have a word with the owner about a gig next weekend. Do you mind if we stop on our way back to the office?”

“Yeah, but I ain’t going in there. Your buddy knows that’s an ass-lovers-R-us joint, right?”

I lifted my eyes from the forms in time to watch Raven smack Ricky over the head good-naturedly. Ricky laughed and retaliated with a shoulder check.

“You’re a dick, Ricky. I should drag your ass in there and show you what you’re missing.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not be eye-fucked by a bunch of gays.”

“Yeah, cuz that’s what we do. Us gays just can’t help ourselves. How can you stand working with me?”

They both laughed, and Ricky took another playful shove before straightening his shirt and looking in my direction. Casting my gaze back to the forms, I focused on reading the fine print and signing my name in the right spots.

“You know I’m kidding, man,” Ricky said, his voice still tinged with humor. “I’ll drop you off then go fill the tank.”

“Perfect.”

Finished with the forms, I left the clipboard on a box near Ricky and cleared my throat to pull them away from their conversation. “Thanks a lot. I’m sorry there was a bit of tension this morning.”

“No worries, man,” Ricky said grabbing the paperwork and sticking the clipboard under his arm. “Not all women are keepers. You’ll find better.” He winked knowingly.

“Hmm. Well, thanks.”

Raven’s silver-blue eyes were glued to me, so I offered him a kind smile and nod as well; gratitude for a job well done.

But again, he held out his hand to shake. He was determined if nothing else.

“It was nice to meet you, Ireland. All the best.”

He waited for a beat, then another, as I stared at the outstretched hand like it might bite me.

“Never let anyone touch you. Never. No one is allowed near you. Ever.”

A prickle of static fanned over my skin as I considered the situation. Dr. Kelby’s words of encouragement were completely undermineded by the echoes of my childhood. Logically, I knew nothing bad would happen if I shook his hand. I knew it wouldn’t cause me pain—despite how often that notion had been drilled into my mind. His was an offer of friendship. All I had to do was accept it. The expanse of time we’d be connected would be brief. Less than a minute. Five-seconds at most.

It didn’t matter. I took too long psyching myself up, and Raven dropped his hand to his side. The sparkling blue shine emanating from his eyes had been like the midday sun, shining across my face. But as he turned to the door, I was left in shadows once again. Then, he and Ricky were gone, the click of my new front door shutting out the world and everyone in it.

 

* * *

 

“Tell me how last week went? You moved Friday, right?”

I sighed and shifted on the love seat, drawing my leg under my ass and trying to get comfortable. Although Dr. Kelby’s office away from the hospital was more welcoming and warmer in design with cushioned furniture, soft drapes over the large windows, and plants throughout, my spinning head made it hard to settle.

“Yeah. It’s been rough. Stressful.”

“Rough how?”

I blew out a breath and ran my tongue over the hoop in my lip. “I took less than a week to find a place to live, and it’s a dive. I hate it. Julia barely let me take anything. I had to buy a bunch of new furniture which isn’t being delivered until this coming Friday, so I’m spending a week with hardly anything. All I have is a bed, a few dressers, my weights, and a bookshelf. A few more odds and ends, but nothing much.”

“And work? How’s that going?”

I met Erin’s green-eyed gaze and shrugged. “Bad. I really think I should be on leave.”

She ignored my persistent opinion, as usual, and pressed onward. “How much contact have you managed since visiting your mother? Not just at work, but anywhere.”

What she meant was, had I been successful in touching or allowing myself to be touched by anyone.

My attention fell to the table separating us as visions of the past week rolled through my mind. How many times had I passed off duties at work, so I didn’t need to evaluate patients? Then came an image of Julia, trying one last time to draw me out of my dark pit, begging me to just try to touch her and prove I could be in control. Finally, the multiple instances when I couldn’t even allow items to be passed from hand to hand out of fear of fingers brushing together. Accidental contact was the worst. All those hang-ups and knowing that only a day before I’d visited my mother none of them had troubled me. At least not severely.

“None. Once,” I amended. “Sort of. The day after, with a child who needed her blood pressure taken. But after that day… none.” There was a long pause. Erin was good at getting me to talk without directly pressuring me. “She’s screaming in my head again. I can’t shut it off.”

They weren’t voices like a person with schizophrenia might hear, more like ingrained rules you grew up listening to over and over again. Like, “look both ways before you cross the street.” As adults, we automatically register those reminders from when we were children. Never would we think of taking on a busy street without acknowledging what we were taught. Those rules become second nature. We don’t have to think about them anymore because they’re rooted in our subconscious. The rules my mother taught me were just as heavily ingrained, and they came just as automatically, except hers were the babblings of an abused woman. For too many years, I’d struggled to rewrite those misguided directives and replace them with something more factual.

“And what do you do when that happens?”

“I try to remind myself of logic. I talk it through in my head like you told me. But, people aren’t as patient. They don’t see my struggles or that I’m trying. Like,” I sat up straighter, knowing a perfect example. “The day the movers came to move me out. The one guy offered his hand to shake multiple times over the course of the day. I wanted to try and just accept that simple gesture, but as I’m talking myself into it, telling myself there is no danger, he dropped the offer and left. I took too long. I can’t sit and explain to everyone I meet the mess inside my head. It’s not possible. Especially with the number of random people I see in a day between the hospital and the outside world.”

“And that’s understandable, Ireland. Which is why we talked about taking those initiatives with close friends first. It’s about training your brain to acknowledge touch as acceptable.”

But how many times had I thought I’d succeeded in training my brain only to encounter a trigger that tossed me back to the beginning again.

“I’m tired.”

“Don’t give up.”

“What if Julia’s right?”

“Explain.”

“She said I’m self-sabotaging.”

Erin tilted her head to the side, her forehead creased as she squinted in question. “And do you believe that?”

“No. I don’t know. I know going to see my mother causes everything to fall apart, yet I go see her anyway.”

“She’s your mother. You’ve made that argument, and it’s a valid point. No one should ask you to abandon your family.”

My heart ached remembering the decline I’d witnessed the week before. The woman I’d grown up with, the woman who’d loved me unconditionally, was so lost to her disease she didn’t know my name. I was no more than a stranger to her anymore.

Speaking past the bubble that had formed in my throat with the memories, I asked the question that had been ailing me for years. Shame flooded me as I spoke the unspeakable. “Will I be better when she’s gone?”

Erin waited until I found the courage to meet her eyes. Hers radiated kindness and were gentle and non-accusing. “You know I can’t promise that. Over the course of your mother’s illness, you’ve come to recognize her presence as a potential trigger, but you and I both know she isn’t the only one.”

“I know.” I dropped my gaze to my folded hands. “I don’t wish her gone.”

“I know you don’t. But I also know you want desperately to be better.” She shifted and laid her notepad on the table between us. “When you have a setback, the best course of action is to encourage yourself forward and get back to where you were at. Don’t allow yourself to be pulled under. It’s been a while since you’ve slipped, but don’t forget the tools you have to bridge those difficult parts. Find your string again. Use it. That was one of the most positive methods we discovered, remember?”

Cat’s cradle. Years ago, Erin introduced me to the simple childhood string game. It could be played with none or minimal contact, depending on the skill of the players and caution used. Not only was it calming, but when I played, I focused on the game rather than the proximity of the person beside me.

“I have it at home. I haven’t used it in months.”

“Put it in your pocket again. Use all the tools you have. Are you meditating?”

“Some.”

“Good. Plan something social. Invite a friend to coffee. Talk yourself into simple routine tasks at work. Ones you know are the least stressful. Break through that barrier again, and I have faith you will bounce back, Ireland. Start small. You can do this.”

She had faith, and I wanted to crawl under my bed and live there forever.

Before I could leave, Erin reached out her hand, palm up and left it lingering in the air between us. Over the years, Erin had become more than simply “Dr. Kelby, my psychiatrist,” she’d become a friend, an ally. I trusted her with my life, and I understood the offering she presented. It was a first step forward again. The choice was mine, and she would never force my hand.

I stared at her offering, listening to my pulse as it thrummed in my ears. Having been recently reminded of my meditative therapy, I worked to stabilize my breathing, focusing on keeping an even pace. It was a full two or three minutes before I found the courage to lift my hand and reach out. Only the tips of our fingers joined, but it was by my own violation. I made it happen, I accepted the contact.

“You’re safe, Ireland. The world is not out to harm you. Touch is healthy.” As she spoke, I closed my eyes and focused on our connection as faint and almost absent as it was. I let her words speak to me, cover me, surround me. It was like reaching out and touching normal. It was where I wanted to be if only I could fight my way out of the cage I’d been locked in all my life.

 

* * *

 

Friday’s furniture delivery couldn’t come soon enough. I was sick of eating standing up and pacing a barren apartment where the only place I could sit down was on my bed. The cable had been run the day after I’d moved in, but sitting on the floor to watch TV only lasted so long. The carpets smelled funny, and the unidentifiable stains started to wreak havoc on my brain. I’d imagined them as everything from feces to urine to cum. By day two, I’d determined I needed to rent a carpet cleaning machine on the weekend when I was off and take care of it once and for all.

The not-so-friendly staff at the furniture store had informed me my delivery was scheduled to arrive “anytime between twelve and four.” I booked the afternoon off work to be available since I couldn’t go any longer without furniture, and they didn’t deliver on weekends.

At shortly after two, there was a hard rap at my door. When I opened it, I was stunned silent by the familiar face staring back at me. A wicked grin spanned his unshaven face exposing a hint of a dimple buried in his left cheek. And those striking blue eyes that made mine feel dull in comparison stared back from beyond the threshold. Same tattered jeans, brown leather belt, and chin length wavy black hair. However, unlike the day he’d moved my furniture, the emblem on his pine-green polo shirt advertised the furniture store instead.

“Um… Hello again.”

He winked and leaned against the door frame, glancing once down the hallway to the front entrance of the apartment before meeting my eyes.

“I saw this address on the tickets this morning for delivery. Thought it looked familiar.”

With a knowing smile glued to his face, it struck me that him showing up was probably not entirely coincidental. I wondered how many delivery trucks the store sent out on a given day and if Raven had a hand in switching things around.

“My partner is just getting the truck open and unlatching your stuff. A couch, coffee table, and a four-piece dining room set, is that right?”

“Yeah.” I backed up a few steps when Raven poked his head in.

“I think I can guess where they’re going. Shouldn’t take too long.” He winked again and lingered a minute more. “Good to see you again… Ireland.”

Without waiting for a reply, he shot down the hallway.

Raven’s appearance put me on edge. For whatever reason, his presence was suffocating, smothering, and instantly made my heart gallop. I recalled his persistent attempts to get me to shake his hand and every word of the conversations we’d shared. I wondered, if he’d had patience, would I have broken through my trepidation and succeeded in a handshake? Could I have touched him that day?

The battle for contact had been fought and lost all week, much to my dismay. Erin assured me not to expect miracles in the face of too much change. With Julia and I breaking up, and my recent encounter with my mother, I was bound to take a little longer recovering.

Leaving the door open, I retreated to the other side of the room to give the men lots of space to bring in my new furniture. With luck, they’d be gone quickly, and I could have the afternoon to myself. I planned to lie across my new couch, put on a movie for background noise, and nap. It was the first day I’d had in two weeks where I wasn’t surrounded by the necessity for contact and forced to make excuses at every turn. I intended to use it as a healing day. A stress-free, relaxing day for me.

The first items Raven and his co-worker brought through the door were the four, high-backed wooden chairs that would surround my new table. Each man carried two and deposited them against the wall near where the table was meant to go. Raven needed no direction. The apartment wasn’t big enough for options, so it was kind of a given where each piece of furniture belonged.

The next item was the square, bar-high table. I liked the style. It was far too classy for my new rat’s nest apartment, but I hoped not to linger there longer than I had to. Someday, my nicer furniture could house a much more suitable living space. The dining set had cardboard encased around the legs, probably to ensure they didn’t get scuffed in the move. I worked to remove them as the men finished bringing in the couch and coffee table, placing them in their respective places in the living room.

“This livens it up in here some,” Raven said as he approached, dropping forms on my new table and bending to sign them. His hair fell in front of his face, and he brushed it back, tucking it behind an ear as he kept working.

“It’s something. Better than nothing, I guess.”

I yanked on a stubborn piece of cardboard, tearing the industrial staples free and unearthing the leg. Raven tore a carbon copy from the back of his paperwork and folded it in half before reaching out to hand it to me. Within an instant, he hesitated, retracted his hand and placed the page on the table giving it a pat.

“I’ll leave this here for you.”

Two brief run-ins and the guy had already picked up on my idiosyncrasies.

“Thanks.”

Without thought, he squatted and started tearing cardboard from the legs of the table.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s not part of your job.”

“No,” he said, smiling up at me with an eye-creasing smile, “but this way I can take all this cardboard off your hands. I’m sure I can dispose of it easier than you can. I don’t mind.”

He shimmied to the next leg which was closer to where I stood. I stepped back, giving him space. His muscles flexed as he put strength into pulling the wrapping free. If I wasn’t so focused on his proximity, I might have taken greater pleasure in admiring the tiny flash of skin exposed above his pants as his shirt rode up. Instead, I was too busy coaching myself into returning to the spot I’d just vacated out of reflex.

“Ah, fuck!” Raven’s cry startled me out of my head in time to see him jerk his hand to his chest as he sucked in a pained breath.

“What happened?”

In response, a trickle of blood laced around his wrist and ran down his arm. Raven jumped up and tried to staunch the flow as he spun. “Shit. Bathroom?”

I pointed down the hallway, my eyes still glued to the injured hand as I tried to make out what exactly had happened. He’d made a fist, hiding the wound, but enough blood seeped out for me to know it was bad.

Raven took off in the direction I indicated, and I followed, needing to know what kind of assistance he required. As much as I struggled with the idea of touching or being near him, I was a nurse, and those ingrained urges were nearly as strong. I couldn’t just let the man bleed everywhere and not offer to help.

Raven had the water running when I reached the bathroom, and the flow poured over his hand, washing the blood down the drain. His fingers were still curled enough I couldn’t see the extent of the damage.

“Show me.” I hovered by the door, not risking getting closer. It was already a small bathroom, and if I entered, we’d be in each other’s space.

Raven tilted his hand to face me and grunted as he extended his fingers more. “Got tweezers?”

“Shit.”

One of the industrial-size staples had torn a gash down his palm and embedded itself under the skin. Only the tail end of it stuck out.

My brain kicked into healing mode as I took in all there was to see. It probably wouldn’t need stitches, but he did need that object removed.

“Move. I need to get under the sink. There’s a first aid kit.”

When he took his hand from under the water, blood surfaced and pooled again, dripping fast enough he was going to make a mess all over the floor.

I scanned the bathroom and reached carefully around him for a hand towel hanging nearby. It was new, purchased last week when I’d moved in, but I didn’t have anything else to offer.

“Here. Wrap it up a minute and sit on the toilet lid.”

Once he listened and moved away enough I felt comfortable entering, I squatted down and rifled through the items I’d stored under the sink until I found my first aid kit.

“When did you have your last tetanus shot?” I asked, opening the kit and finding tweezers, gauze, and medical tape.

“Last year. Needed a medical for this job.”

“Good thing. It doesn’t look like it’s deep enough to require stitches, but that staple needs to come out.”

“You sure, there’s a lot of blood. It’s pretty opened up.”

“I’m a nurse. Trust me. When the staple is out, I’ll look at it, but I doubt it.”

Raven eyed me a moment and then extended his covered hand. “Have at ‘er.”

Yeah, that probably wasn’t going to happen. I nodded at the tweezers I’d laid down on the edge of the sink and shifted back a step to be in the door’s archway. “How about you try.”

“Seriously?” He studied me, but I wouldn’t meet his eyes. When I refused to help, he huffed a humorless laugh and snapped up the instrument. “Am I that disgusting to you?”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

He unwrapped the towel and rested his arm in his lap as he tried to get a grip on the tweezers. The injury was on his right hand, and as he fumbled, it became clear digging the staple out left-handed was going to be a problem.

“Dude, where’d you go?” an approaching voice called from down the hall.

Raven’s co-worker suddenly appeared behind me, close enough I flew into the bathroom to avoid being crowded. He took my place in the doorway, leaning in and scanning the scene. I was stuck uncomfortably between the two men and held my breath as I convinced myself not to climb into the tub just to gain distance.

“Cut myself. I’ll be out in a minute, just gotta clean it up,” Raven explained as he squinted at the staple and tried to catch its edge with the tweezers. His hand shook, and he fumbled the instrument.

“Gross, dude, good luck with that. I don’t do blood. I’ll be in the truck.”

“Yeah, man. Be there in a few.”

After another failed attempt, the tweezers again slipping from his hold and Raven growling in frustration, I blew out a breath, knowing I needed to help.

“Okay, look. I’ll help you, but I need you to cooperate and do exactly as I say.”

Raven threw down the tweezers with an edge of irritation and pinched the bridge of his nose. I was clearly annoying him. Well, he wasn’t alone. If he only knew how much I was frustrating myself, too.

“What?” he snapped. “What must I do to get your help?” Blue eyes pierced me, their once kind warmth was gone.

I bit back a snarky reply to his obvious sarcasm and pulled a pair of gloves from the first aid kit, tugging them on. My heart thrummed as echoes of my past rang loud in my ears. I took a step closer, backed up, then tried again.

“Just… Just don’t touch me, okay? I’ll get it out, but you can’t move a muscle. Promise me, or I’m not helping.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the pleading look in my eyes or the desperation in my tone that made him flinch, but his irritation vanished. Concerned wrinkles appeared across his brow as he searched my face for answers I wouldn’t give.

“Okay,” he mumbled after a minute. “I won’t move. I promise.”

I nodded and indicated to the counter. “Lay it up here, so it’s stable.”

He obliged, shifting his ass to the edge of the toilet seat to reach.

Careful not to have any more contact than tweezers to staple, I bent down and braced my elbow on the hard surface before aiming for the intruding object. I caught hold of its edge with a firm grip before meeting his gaze. “Ready? It will probably hurt like a bitch.”

“Like it doesn’t already. Do it.”

It took force, but I managed to wrench the staple free in one swift movement. The area bled more, but Raven didn’t move to cover it. He kept his promise, his attention completely on my face and not on his injury. He allowed me to gain distance before wrapping it in the towel once again.

“How are you a nurse? This doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s complicated. Wash with soap and water.” I pointed to the sink. “I’ll cut you some gauze and help you wrap it.”

Was there a point explaining to this random stranger? Sure, we’d run into each other twice in the span of a week, but the likelihood was, I’d never see him again after today. No sense spilling my life’s story.

Submitting to my non-answer, Raven washed his hand while I hung back and folded a thick enough square of gauze to handle his still-bleeding wound. Once he’d sat back down, I handed him the square—being mindful of how close our fingers came to touching—and told him to place it over the wound.

With the roll of gauze and Raven’s help, I wound it around his hand a few times and cut the end, explaining how he could tuck it under to secure it. The entire process was complete, and I’d managed to avoid any direct contact. My heart was in my throat. Dr. Kelby was giving me shit inside my head for not taking those gentle strides forward and going out of my way to avoid them, but even with her admonishment, the wave of relief was powerful.

“Good to go. Once the bleeding stops, you can probably just keep it covered with a few bandages. Work gloves will probably help over the next week to protect it. It’s not that deep, so it won’t need stitches. Keep it clean, apply some antibiotic ointment daily for a few days. It will be fine.”

As I spoke, I packed up the first aid kit and shucked my gloves into the garbage. The heat of Raven’s gaze burned and made it hard to meet his eyes. I knew he had questions. Many. But I couldn’t offer answers.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t move from his perch on the toilet lid until I’d moved into the doorway. It was almost like he’d acknowledge my oddities and respected them even when he didn’t understand.

“Listen,” he continued. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intent.”

He didn’t advance, so I didn’t retreat. “Like I said, it’s not you. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

He shrugged and examined his wrapped hand with a small smile. “Nah, it’s nothing. I’ve had worse.”

We headed back into the dining room where he collected the stray cardboard under his arm. Raven moved toward the door but paused and turned back before leaving. “It was good to see you again.”

No extended hand. No offer to shake. Despite the fact that I would never have accepted it, I missed the invitation regardless. I was already labeled as the pitiful man who couldn’t even shake a hand.