“So you think I should respond? Even if I have no clue what the hell I’d even say?”
Leo chuckles, rubbing his forehead. “You know, you really need to get yourself a therapist.”
“Why? I have you,” I joke.
He just folds his arms, eyes locking on mine, clearly amused.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “Do I ignore him? Respond? What do I say?”
His brows lift, but he stays quiet, waiting me out.
“I just don’t want to mess anything up.”
He smiles, gaze steady, eyes lighting up just slightly. “What exactly do you not want to mess up? Your marriage?”
Ah, shit. Classic Leo. Let me talk myself into a corner while he just sits there waiting for me to realize it.
“I don’t know. My marriage, the divorce, trying to move on, him staying clean. Everything.” I shrug. “Do you think I should respond?”
“You know I can’t tell you what to do.”
“I know. I just… value how you see things. You know me.”
“Do I think you should respond?” He nods slowly. “Yeah. He’s still your husband. You haven’t talked in four months. He just got out of rehab. He’s vulnerable as hell and probably scared shitless waiting to hear back. That text took a lot.”
“I know, but?—”
He holds up a hand. “I’m not going to tell you what to say. But if you’re not ready, a simpleHey, I got your message. I need some time to process, but I’m glad you’re doing well. I’ll get back to you soon—that’s enough.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, eyes dropping to the counter. “Okay. You’re right. Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. I’m always happy to talk it out with you,” he says, resting his palms on the counter. “But you are capable of handling this on your own, despite what you tell yourself. You just have to ask yourself the right questions. Because it’s going to be a confusing time now that he’s out. He’s going to keep reaching out, and you need to decide what it is you want.”
He looks at me with that pointed calm of his, letting it land before adding, “Because if you’re wavering, it’s like being sixteen at a party.”
I stare at him, not following.
“You didn’t plan to drink. But everyone else is, and you’re too afraid to say no, too unsure of where you stand. So you give in. Next thing you know, you’re wasted and passed out on thefloor, wondering how the hell you got there—when all you really wanted was to just hang out and feel like you belonged.”
My lips curve at his analogy. “Speaking from experience?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He lets out a laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He pushes off the counter, making his way to me. He places a hand on my shoulder, gripping it firmly. “Any other questions?”
“No. I’m good.” I meet his gaze. “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure. You’ve got this.” He gives my shoulder a rub. “Good night, love.”
“Night.”
I don’t move for a solid five minutes after Leo heads upstairs. The kitchen hums in the silence, and my head’s spinning. God, I wish I could shut my thoughts off for two seconds.
Finally, I pull up my text with Jensen.
Hi. I’m not sure what to say yet… but I wanted you to know I got your message. I’ll think about it and get back to you soon.
My thumb hovers over the send button while my heart races. It’s silly—I’m not even saying anything worth reading. Just letting him know I saw it. But I’m nervous.
I tap send, then drop my phone on the counter.
