Free Speak (The Voice trilogy Book 2) by Noelle Bodhaine

flood gates.
                  “Oh, no,” Rhys gasps and pulls me into his arms, wrapping his protective strength around me. I bury my face in his chest and sob, unable to stop. Salty tears soak his shirt, but he just holds me. His hands run up and down the planes of my back. The repetition is soothing and I allow myself to just cry. Just let it out and get it over with. I cannot hold it in anymore, if I do, I fear I will break for good. I can let it all go while he is holding me, I can surrender to the grief that I have ignored for so long. I want to let it all go.
                  I couldn’t say just how long we stood in the kitchen, with me wrapped in his arms, him calming me with his touch. But when my tears ran dry, the sun was setting, casting a brilliant pink light through the kitchen window.
                  “Do you want to talk about it?”
                  “No,” the sentiment is heavy. “Let’s just eat.”
                  I push out of his arms and he looks lost. But I don’t want to linger on the feelings that I let out. I just want to pretend it didn’t happen. I ask him to go and light the grill while I finish the salsa and pour some tortilla chips into a bowl. Rhys is clearly shaken by my reaction. After we eat, we sit quietly and watch random TV that neither of us is very interested in while he holds me close. He just holds me, doesn’t try to kiss me or caress me. He barely speaks a word. He just lets me be. I must have fallen asleep in his arms because when I wake I am tucked into the crook of his shoulder while he sleeps with his head propped upon his hand. I wake him with a kiss to his neck and a nibble on his ear. He groans and opens his sleepy eyes just long enough for me to coax him from the couch and lead him into my bedroom. He collapses on the bed in a heap and falls right back to sleep. I pull the comforter up over him and leave him to sleep.
                  I wander through my darkened apartment restless, listless, but unwilling to do the thing that I know I should do. I sit at the kitchen table and stare at it. It mocks me. The altar sits on the table, right where Rhys left it, calling my name. Wondering why I have abandoned her, why I have abandoned the memory of my mother. I run my finger along the edge and pry off a piece of old purple wax. It still smells like the oils my mother used to make her candles, rosemary and lavender. I reach behind me for the candle Roseanna gave me, turning it over between my fingers. This one smells like jasmine and sweet pea. Roseanna was always partial to floral smells, my mother always thought them too overpowering. But I love the smell of jasmine, it reminds me of playing in Roseanna’s backyard when I was a child. The warm summer nights that she and my mother would spend together while I played, laced with the smells of flowers and sandalwood, they would watch me play and laugh. I could always make my mom and Roseanna laugh, though I never really understood what they were laughing at.
                  I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of Roseanna’s candle, fighting the urge to light it.
                  “Why are you sitting in the dark?” his sleepy whisper catches me by surprise, and I turn to see his silhouette in the doorway. He walks over and takes a seat next to me at the table and pulls the altar closer to him. Running his finger up and over the rivulets of dried candle wax, he watches me and waits.
                  “Tell me about your parents, Sophie.” I watch him and mull over the request, needing to unburden myself. I am restless and filled with an unexplained anxiety that can only stem from seeing Roseanna and bringing up painful memories. I know the only way to relieve the pressure is to talk about it, but I don’t want to burden Rhys. I don’t want the dark cloud of my grief to color whatever this is,