I think of my closest teammates—my friends. Those who would be here if I were to call with an issue. I guess therein lies the issue. I’d never call anyone if my life imploded. I learned a long time ago to deal with my own shit and not inconvenience anyone else with it.
I know it’s not a healthy way to live, but when you’ve grown up with no one in your corner but a social worker who pushes you around like an unloved toy, it’s kind of inevitable.
“I don’t know how to let them in,” I confess quietly.
Across the table, Freya smiles, and I swear it hits me right in the chest.
“You’re doing it right now, Cole.”
Panic slams into me. My heart speeds up until I’m sure it’s about to beat out of my chest, and my temperature soars.
Whenever I’ve let someone in in the past, they’ve left me. I’ve got the battle scars to prove it.
I can’t go through that again.
“Talk to me,” she demands, having a front-row seat as I spin out.
I shake my head gently; the movement is so slight I have no idea how she even sees it, but she does.
Her lips part, I’m sure to say something that’s going to hit me upside the head once again, but she doesn’t get the chance because our server appears with our meals in hand.
“One filet with fries,” he says, lowering the plate in front of Freya. “And one rib-eye,” he adds, placing mine down. “I’ll be back with your sides. Would you like any sauces or more drinks?”
We quickly give our orders before he scurries off again.
Ignoring her food, Freya’s focus stays firmly on me.
She wants me to talk; she wants to know why I’m so scared. But I don’t think she understands that the talking, the opening myself up, only to be dropped like an unwanted piece of clothing, is the most terrifying thing in the world.
Or maybe she does.
“Don’t let it get cold,” I say, dragging my eyes from hers and picking up my knife and fork.
Silence settles around us. She doesn’t immediately do as I say, but as I cut into my steak, and my sides appear around me, movement out of the corner of my eye tells me that she finally begins eating.
I love this place. They do incredible steak. But tonight, I barely taste it. Each mouthful is bland, and all can focus on are my racing thoughts.
“Good?” I ask when I’m about halfway through my meal. Although when I look up, I discover that Freya’s barely touched hers.
She lights up the second my eyes find hers, a smile spreading. “It’s incredible.”
I study her for a beat, noting how tired she looks, and I kick myself for dragging her out here when really, she probably just wanted to go home and rest. Who wants to spend all day at a homeless shelter and then go for a meal when they’re suffering from the night before? She should be curled up on her couch, watching a movie.
“I’m sorry for ruining your day.”
It’s weird being the one apologizing after spending so long chastising her for saying the words so often. But I am. Freya has enough to deal with in her life; the last thing she needs is for me to pile my own drama and baggage on as well.
“What? No,” she argues. “I’ve had the best day. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
“Shall we get it to go?”
“No,” she says fiercely. “I refuse to let you ruin a steak this good like that.”
I can’t help but laugh as she defiantly cuts herself another piece and pops it into her mouth.
“Okay, but after this, I’m taking you home.”
My breath catches at the words, but I don’t react other than that. It’s true. My apartment feels so much more like a home with her inside it.
