Just his touch alone has me relaxing.
“Maeve,” he whispers, andGod, the way he says my name. “I’d rather have even just a few years with you than to never have you at all.”
As I reluctantly peek up at him, the water forming in my eyes decides to betray me, falling down my cheeks. He winces softly at that, taking his hand and ever so slowly brushing away my tears, one by one as they fall.
“And even if you decide that, maybe, you’re ready anddon’twant me,” he takes a thick swallow, “I’ll gladly be your friend.”
And just like that, the pressure of it all disappears. This was never about him pressuring me at all. No matter what, he was giving me the space to choose. He was leaving this soul-crushing decision up to me because he knew what it meant for me to have that.
I don’t say anything, I just collapse against him, relishing in the warmth of his body as he wraps his arms around me. This is my favorite place, my safe space. It used to be the campus library, where I found solace, but that feels like a distant memory now. My safe space is here, with his arms practically swallowing me whole, and the sound of his faint heartbeat in my ear as I press my face into his chest.
I know I’m so confusing. My brain doesn’t even make sense tomehalf the time. I want to properly convey what I’m trying to say, but it always comes out the wrong way. The fear that has my entire being in a death grip makes it hard to function, and I guess that’s really all it boils down to. I’m scared of this. Of everything.
I may not be ready for him now, but God, do I want to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TATUM
Monday, December 27th
The drive to Nevada is almost a blur. You know those moments when you’re driving, and you come to? Not remembering how you got where you are, just driving mindlessly until your brain comes out of its fog, and you’re somewhere else? That’s how ninety percent of this drive is for me.
I know that isn’t safe. Anything could happen while my head is so far away, and I should focus, but it’s almost impossible. Everything feels impossible right now.
We’ll get to Seattle tomorrow, and every mile closer makes the dread loom heavier over my head. I feel like I’m driving toward my death sentence, but it’s notmine.There’s an inner turmoil in my chest when I think about speaking to my mother again. I want to hear what she has to say, but I’m so sure in my gut that whatever it will be, it’ll be disappointing. I want her to die, but Idon’t. I want to help her, but Idon’t.
Why am I so torn? It should be the easiest decision in the world.
The panic settled into my bones the moment she called me, and it never left. I was so nauseous this morning when I calledher doctors to figure out where we needed to go and what needed to happen, I had to throw up before we left the hotel. I told Maeve I had to use the bathroom before we hit the road, but it was a lie. I had to puke my guts up.
Maybe it was a combination of things: the conversation I had with Maeve this morning, the phone call to the doctors, and the inevitable reunion with my mother. All of it was throwing me off, making me feel…awful. Thinking about it now had my stomach churning again.
Maeve doesn’t talk much during the drive, it’s like she knows I just need to sit with this for a while. Be in my own brain.
I wish I had the energy to appreciate her the way she deserves right now. To thank her. To hug her. To explain how much all this means to me. But I’m just so tired.
When we finally get to the hotel in Ely, Nevada, I’m relieved when Maeve goes into the bathroom to take her shower first. I just want to lay here on the bed, staring up at the ceiling for a while, preparing myself for a conversation I know will happen when she’s done. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I want to talk to her, but I don’t want to be a zombie when I do. Explaining feelings can be so mentally taxing.
So, I lay here, listening to the sound of the shower until it eventually shuts off, before pushing myself from the bed and taking a deep breath. It’s a few minutes before she opens the door, and my entire body relaxes when she does. Maybe she’s what I need. After all that space to be alone in my head, I didn’t feel better, but seeing her…
“You should let me drive tomorrow,” Maeve says as she comes out of the bathroom, towel drying her hair. “You know, if you’re okay with me driving your truck.”
I’m shaking my head before she even finishes. “You don’t have to drive.”
She gives me a skeptical look. “You’ve driven this whole time.”
“That’s okay.”
Maeve raises a brow, dropping her towel on the bed before crossing her arms over her chest. “Let me drive. Please? Just one day.”
She probably observed me in my funk the entire drive and decided for herself that it wasn’t safe, either. I guess I hadn’t thought about how obvious it might’ve been, written all over my face.
“It’s ten hours,” I say, as if it’ll sway her.
“Okay.” She shrugs.
My head drops slightly as I cock my head tiredly at her. I just don’t have the strength to argue with her, especially not when she’s looking at me with those eyes.
