Also, I’ve never confessed this to a soul.
But if anyone’s going to know, shouldn’t it be my pretend fiancé who’s been standing between me and Nigel for the past few days?
“I got up the courage one day to ask him if he liked anyone because he sometimes chased me on the playground, and I was dumb—no, naïve and inexperienced in the world enough to believe the stupid line about how boys pick on girls to show that they like them.”
Davis doesn’t make a noise, but I swear he tenses.
Or maybe I’m projecting.
I’m probably projecting.
“He told me then that he liked one of my friends. It was a little crushing, but none of us were allowed to date—too young, concentrate on school, don’t open your legs for boys until you’re married, all of that. But then I found out that they were secretly going together. I tried so hard to get over it because what kind of a monster has a crush on her friend’s boyfriend? Especially when I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for boys at all because I was too young, and boys were dangerous and they could get you pregnant and ruin your life and God would be so disappointed in you if you slept with a boy, even if no one ever said God would be so disappointed inhimbecause boyshad needsand God understood that.”
Davis stays silent.
I know he’s listening though. It’s this unique sensation like being wrapped in the warmest blanket on the coldest night of winter.
“I secretly started going with this other guy early in high school, and Nigel asked me to break up with him. Because Nigel said he’d realized then that he liked me. So I did, but after I wasn’t passing notes and having secret phone calls with that boy anymore, Nigel told me we had to be even more super secretive about it than I’d been with the first boy because his parents didn’t approve of me and we needed to give it space so I could heal from my breakup.”
Still no sounds from the man sitting on the edge of the bed.
But he puts a hand on my forearm and squeezes.
“I wasn’t upset about the breakup. I just wanted to be with Nigel. Except we only talked at school. No notes passed. He didn’t text me or call me on nights or weekends. He’d say hi, I’d say hi and blush like crazy, and at lunch he’d sit with the guys on the basketball team so we wouldn’t tip anyone off. And then I heard one day that he was dating—dating-dating—one of the cheerleaders. He was allit just happened, Sloane, but you know we weren’t meant to be together.”
“He strung you along.”
“Three times,” I whisper. “Three times before the end of high school, and because he was the grandson of the local preacher, I thought it was God’s will. That I’d done something wrong to deserve the hurt and the pain. That it was my fault for not being good enough. That it was punishment for the sin of having a crush on a boy too young. I wasn’t today years old when I realized the first boy I ever loved made a sport of gaslighting me, but it truly wasn’t until Patrick that I could see it clearly. And I just… Now Patrick’s back and Grandma sent Nigel and I feel like—I feel like all of this work I’ve done to let go of the guilt and shame that’s haunted me since childhood just forbeing bornis all crashing back. I’ve worked through all of this shit already. I don’t want to do it again, but clearly, I have to.”
Davis shifts on the bed.
One arm slips around my back.
The other circles me, pulling me against him.
He rests his chin on my hair, his beard scratchy against my scalp, and he hugs me tightly.
A shuddery breath leaves my lungs as warmth and safety and comfort envelop me and Peggy.
“You’re a good person, Sloane.”
Heat slides down my face, from my hairline, over my forehead, down to my brows and eyelids. “I was taught that I’d never be good enough.”
“We are all enough.”
“I know they love me. They mean well. They’re coming from a place of caring, but they just—” Another shuddery breath ripples through me.
He hugs me tighter, and my nostrils fill with the scents of campfire smoke and pine needles and safety. “Love isn’t love when it’s used as a weapon.”
Peggy purrs loudly.
I think she agrees.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s stress. Who wouldn’t be stressed in my shoes right now? I just—I just need some sleep, and then I’ll have the strength to deal with it. I can handle this. I can. Just…tomorrow. Not today.”
He doesn’t answer.
Not with words, anyway.
