(4.6 / 5)
When I hear him talking, I close my eyes. I take a very long and deep breath, trying to calm down the immediate butterflies buzzing in my stomach, hoping to slow my heart down. The voice was slightly deeper, but something that was achingly familiar was the timbre.
My acts have done nothing to help, but who was I kidding, then? A deep breath was not going to remedy the effects that he had on me and the eventual reaction of my body. Also the memories that would haunt me forever could not prevent my feelings from once again activating his closeness.
I used to pray that from the pain that the end carried, from the void in my chest, I would find the strength to move on from him but eventually move on from the loss of Creed Sullivan and the death of his sister, Cora.
The Sullivans were the best part of my New England season.
Deep down, I still knew my ache was the reason I returned, for all that I had lost…
But I had not expected to see him again, not like this, particularly.