“Who told you people will only care about you if you sacrifice yourself for them? And their needs?”
Nobody told me that. I learned it. And not because I wanted to.
But even then... I didn’t think my mom or Adleigh only loved me because I took care of them. I didn’t think the Englishes only loved me because I took care of their business. I loved them too much to think something so dark about any of them.
But I had learned the opposite was true. That if you didn’t have anything to offer, they would leave. If you couldn’t give them anything, there was no point in sticking around. If you were just a kid and all you did was love them, it wasn’t enough to make them stay.
“Obviously, I don’t want to lose my apartment and have nowhere to go—”
He held up his hand and cut me off before I could even finish my sentence. “It’s bullshit, Ada. You’re not going to lose your place here. You’re smart. You’re fucking brilliant. But that doesn’t mean you have to be perfect. Or make all the perfect moves to have the perfect life. You’re allowed a rather large margin to be an absolute fuck-up. And you’re allowed to just be. Without proving your worth or usefulness. You can just let people love you because of you. Not based on what you can give them.”
“I feel like we’re having two different conversations.”
His eyes flashed with disappointment as if I was letting him down. “You’re trying to keep this about the money, which is fine. That’s your prerogative. But this goes deeper than that, and you know it. It’s not about a raise or an apartment or any of that shit you barely care about. And I know that because you’ve been working for us for over six years, so if you had ever cared about making money before it was necessary to make more money, you would have asked for a raise years ago. This is about your fear of failure. You’re making contingency plans to protect yourself from failing. Hell, your contingency plans probably have contingency plans.” He pointed a finger in my face and lowered his voice. “Someone told you a long time ago that you had to go at it alone. That person is a fucking liar. Life is better shared. You’re not an island. People love having you in their lives. We want you here, in ours.” He exhaled, and some of the tension leaked out of him. “Do what you want. But before you go off applying for jobs all over the city, why don’t you wait to see what Will offers you?”
I sat in stunned silence, willing the water in my eyes to stand still. It had come out of nowhere, and I was about three seconds from letting it loose.
Someone told you a long time ago that you had to go at it alone. That person is a fucking liar.
My phone burned in my apron, searing me with the truth. I knew who told me that. Maybe he hadn’t articulated it in quite the same way, but his actions had spoken louder than words ever could.
Because somewhere along the way, I’d absorbed the message whether he’d left it for me or not. Life might be better shared, but that was impossible when people left. If you controlled who you let into your heart, you controlled how much you got hurt.
You’re not enough to make the people you love stay.
Charlie’s gaze moved over my face, taking in every unshed tear, every tight line around my mouth, every unspoken memory. He read it and digested it and seemed to analyze every nuance, every detail, every back-off vibe I was intentionally or unintentionally giving off. His eyebrows drew together, and he opened his mouth for what I thought was going to be an apology. But then he turned around and left.
I stared after him, wondering where I’d misplaced my backbone and when I’d stopped distrusting every person I expected to let me down.
The bar eventually closed, and I worked my way through paperwork and drawer counting and signing people off in a way reminiscent of a robot. My body went through the motions, but I couldn’t focus on anything but Charlie’s accusations.
I wanted him to be wrong about me. I wanted him to have no idea what he was talking about so I could just laugh him off. But God, he’d hit a fucking nerve.
The thing about exposed nerves was that we went out of our way to protect them, to shield them from ever getting hit or touched or battered. I hadn’t realized all the ways I had contorted myself to protect that vulnerable place inside me. I’d twisted myself into knots in an attempt to never let anyone see or touch that spot.
And it had worked. For a really long time, I’d managed to hide it away.
Until Charlie English.
What he hadn’t accidentally bowled over by just being his charming fucking self, he’d apparently seen all along.
The urge to scream at him, tell him off, eviscerate him with my words was so strong I nearly collapsed to my knees. But I couldn’t shake that he was right. The truth kept pinballing around in my head, hitting bonuses and buttons that made optimistic casino sounds.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like people as a whole. I just knew that eventually they would let me down.
Do you know how hard it is to make healthy relationships when you’re waiting on every single human being who has ever been in your life to epically let you down and crush your dreams and spirit and hopes for the future?
Really, really impossible.
But my brain was just stuck on that truth. I genuinely expected every person to let me down. Every circumstance to eventually disappoint. Everything I touched to wither. Every person I loved or cared about to leave.
I didn’t need someone else to point out that I wasn’t worth sticking around for. Sometimes it was just easier to hide. To keep the veneer of self-sufficiency.No one can let you down that way. And you don’t disappoint them either.
Frankly, I’d had enough of this day.
I started to gather my things. I’d been staring blankly at a blinking cursor for twenty minutes or so, but now it was time to put this day to bed. I’d counted Ally and Miles out hours ago, along with Cyd, another training server. I hadn’t said goodbye to the kitchen staff, but I’d assumed they’d left at least an hour ago.
I debated whether to tell Charlie I was leaving or just leave him in the lurch when he appeared in the office doorway.
