Nora was waiting for Josh when he pushed the door to their bedroom open two hours later. These days it was difficult to tell what was womens intuition and what was her wolf sense—especially on days like today, when the full moon was so close, it could be a mix of both. Regardless of how she knew, she knew that Josh was miserable, frightened, wracked with self-loathing, and had bad news for her.
Her heart was beating almost as fast as his. She could hear it, practically, though it was also like a feeling, the thrumming vibration of sound that was not sound, traveling to her on the air between them. Josh met her eyes, blinked like he'd just been splashed with water, as if her gaze was something that hurt him. Such powerful, deep shame. She'd seen it in him countless times, and while sometimes it was an issue he'd blown out of proportion, she somehow knew this time it wasn't that.
Unable to do anything else but march towards the gallows, Nora patted the bed beside her. Josh, equally helpless to stop their trajectory, took up her invitation and sat.
For a long moment they were quiet.
She let him make the first move, knowing he needed it. He looked up from his lap, finally, his eyes holding that heartbreaking expression of deep, pervasive sadness that she'd caught a glimpse of years ago in the hospital while he was miserable over offending her with terrible pickup lines.
More out of fear than affection, Nora surged forward to kiss him. If the gesture had been born from the panic of possibly losing him, what followed was her last hopes hitting rock bottom, dragged down into the ocean with concrete feet.
She could taste Aidan on him, without knowing how she knew that was what it was. Josh knew that she knew in a moment, and then his face crumpled.
"Nora…" he whispered out, harsh and agonized in a way she'd never heard before. "I… I'm so sorry. I love you."
"I know," she said, gently. "I believe you."
Josh scarcely seemed to hear her. "We… we talked. We know it's you and me, we're the ones who are… we're supposed to be together, Nora. I'm so sorry."
It would be so difficult to navigate these waters, walk the tightrope to preserve her pride, keep her heart from completely shattering, prevent Josh from falling into a wreck, and maybe save some semblance, some incarnation of their relationship. "Are you… are you sure, about that?"
Josh snapped his eyes back up to her, dread coloring the brown a darker color. "That I love you? I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
Again, she believed him. Even before she'd been scratched she'd almost been able to smell lies. She knew when someone was trying to pull a fast one on her, almost instinctively, and in rare cases even knew someone was going to lie before they did, through some invisible, miniscule tell. Sometimes she even knew when people were being deluded, dishonest without meaning it or even knowing it themselves. It was why it infuriated her so much when the truth was kept from her; she could tell when she was being lied to, and some days she almost wished she couldn't. There was nothing worse than being hurt by someone and not even having the option to remain blissfully ignorant about it.
Josh wasn't lying, now. He wasn't even lying in a deluded way, trying to convince himself of something that wasn't true because he so desperately wanted it to be real. He did love her. He loved her more than life itself.
That was what made this so hard.
"I know, baby," Nora said, trying to keep her voice even. Josh's eyes became glassy at once; Nora so rarely used these sweet nothings with him, preferring to call him by his name. Josh had always been the lovey-dovey of the two of them. "I just… I think what you need…" she cleared her throat, and all it did was draw even more attention to the fact that she was emotionally compromised, "What we both need, is for you to really… think, for a while. About what's best here."
Josh, bless his heart, didn't interrupt frantically and let her finish her entire sentiment. "I don't need to think," Josh said, his voice barely audible. "You're going to be my wife. You're my family."
Nora felt like she was arguing against someone trying to offer her food after weeks of starvation. All her excuses, all the cues and clues that had been leading up and pointing to this for so long, none of them seemed good enough, and she could feel her will crumbling. "Just… just think, Josh," she said again, her tone bordering far too close to pleading for her liking.
"I can't lose you," Josh whispered, reaching for her but stopping himself, as if afraid he no longer had the right to do so.
She completed the gesture, holding his hand and giving it a hard, firm squeeze. "You won't. Not ever, not really. I'm not—" she took a deep breath and let it out in a slow, shuddering stream, knowing how much of a wreck she looked like but unable to prevent it. The alternative was to completely break down. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. You're too important to me for that."
It was Josh who lost his battle first. He squeezed her hand back, hard, no worries of hurting her or overstepping boundaries or being too rough. It was almost nice, and she wished it had been happening under different circumstances. She squeezed him back to reassure him, though she scarcely knew what she was trying to convey. You can hold on tight? I'm not going anywhere? You can't break me? I'm stronger than I look? It was all true.
"I'm not…" Nora said, having to pause again to take another deep, slow breath. "I'm not… trying to make you feel worse. I just… think maybe, this was a long time coming. This talk, tonight." Josh couldn't seem to make eye contact, but slowed his breathing consciously, listening to her explain. "You and he… Aidan," she said, forcing his name out. It didn't seem real enough if she didn't give voice to the other man, and she knew she needed to make this real, for Josh and for herself. "You've been through so much. And you've been together for so long. I know the same can be said for you and me—and Josh, believe me when I say I would be lost without you." Her words were kind, true, full of love and affection, but precisely for that reason she could feel each one shattering him more and more. She needed to make this fast. "But you have to ask yourself this, for all of us… who can you live without, between the two of us?"
Josh was jolted out of his deep breathing and gave her a stricken, mortified look. "I would rather die than lose you," he said at once.
Again, she believed him. In all things in life he was so unerringly, beautifully sincere. Even when he was trying to deceive he was doing it for what he hoped was the right reason, and he was so terrible at lying. She gave him a weak smile.
"I know. But if I died tomorrow—" Josh let out a soft, broken sound at that and she shushed him, shook her head. "If I did, Aidan would keep you going. He would pick up your pieces," she could feel her voice cracking but strove to go on, to at least get this out, "and it would take time, years, you would always miss me, but… you would be okay." Her voice disappeared on the last word, and she was hardly able to give any volume to the last part. "Because he'd still be there for you. You'd still have him."
Josh had closed his eyes halfway through her explanation, tears tracking down his cheeks. When he opened his eyes to look at her, it was with such grief, pain and loss that it was almost as if she had died. Whatever she expected him to say, it wasn't what he said next.
"And when Aidan is gone, you'll be here."
It gave her pause, threw her off, but she sniffed hard and nodded. "You're right. Of course I will be. But… it's not the same, Josh. You'll realize it in time." She blinked heavily, her lashes thick with water, but she was a pro at not letting any tears shed. It was like a badge of honor for her—it didn't count as crying, she hadn't really lost control, if they stayed in her eyes. Even in front of Josh she played this game with herself, some sick leftover from her fucked up family, from Will. "There was just… one thing left, that was stopping Aidan from…"
She paused. Was she really going to say it? Could she say it? Could she take something that had been, easily, the most beautiful moment in her life, and use it to convince the man she loved to leave her?
She looked back at Josh, at the utter devastated adoration in his eyes, and knew.
"There was just one thing stopping Aidan from being your person, Josh. And it looks like that's gone, now."
It had hit home, as she knew it would. Josh closed his eyes and a tiny shudder ran through his frame. She could almost imagine that this was the undetectable sound of a heart breaking. It seemed like years passed before Josh spoke, and the whole time Nora was staring at him, drinking in his face like she would never see him again.
"Even if…" Josh said, hoarsely, "even if that's true… he's going to die." Nora's heart wrenched, if possible, more. It was the first time Josh had said those words aloud, like they were an inevitability instead of a possibility. "He knows it, we all know it. He's running out of time."
"All the more reason to stop denying this sooner than later," Nora said, feeling the exquisite pain starting to leak from her as she lost the ability to maintain such intense feeling at such a pinnacle. "Life's really too short, for us types."
Josh shook his head. "He talked, we talked about this, after… neither of us really thinks this is… right." Josh shook his head. "He said… that he's 'not the future,' for me. And he reminded me how much you and I love each other. And it's true, Nora. I can't—I can't lose you."
Nora shook her head. "Your listening skills need improvement," she said softly, exhausted but still feeling a kick of fondness for Josh and his ridiculous, bullheaded stubbornness. "I'm not going anywhere. If…" she closed her eyes and tried to claim her hand from Josh so she could press both palms into her forehead, but he kept his grip on her one hand. She pressed her free one over both eyes. "If you… want to. Later, we can… try to fix this. We can see what happens. I'll be here."
She knew it was a mistake to say the moment she said it. Josh shook his head, a motion she felt rather than saw, since she was still covering her eyes. Then he took his hand back, and she missed it at once.
"I can't do that to you," he said softly.
"I know," she said.
That was the last thing they said, simply sharing the silence together, no room in either of them or in the cramped space for any discomfort. All that hung heavy between them was one version of love dying, and another kind that had always been there rising to take its place and wrap them together.