“I need to go,” I manage and walk away as quickly as I can without actually running. No need to give the asshat more ammunition about my inability to handle things like an adult.
I make it to a bathroom near the stairwell and lock myself in a stall, breathing through the nausea and trying very hard not to think about how much that conversation encapsulated all my worst fears. I’m not capable. I need constant rescuing. I’m going to spend my entire life being taken care of because I can’t manage it on my own.
By the time the nausea passes, my eyes are burning with unshed tears, and I’m pressing my palms hard to the metal on either side of the stall like it’s closing in on me. I cannot be the girl who falls apart in a hospital bathroom because her douchebag ex-fiancé makes a snide comment. I’m carrying a little life inside me. I’m going to be responsible for an entire tiny human who deserves a mother who has her shit together.
I need to prove I can do this alone.
The drive back to my house—not “our house,” not “the house where Felix is staying,” MY house—takes fifteen minutes, and I spend the entire time alternating between anger at Bradley and disappointment in myself for letting him get under my skin. Again.
My phone buzzes as I pull into the driveway.
Felix: Did you kill it? We’re at Ian’s. Riva’s back from her mom’s and was dying to meet Ellie. Come over when you’re done.
I can picture Felix and Ian in the living room while Ellie and Riva play, probably with Beast and whatever other dogs my sister’s watching as part of the mix. Sadie will be prepping snacks and generally being the perfect hostess. The whole thing will feel welcoming and easy, the way things with my sister always are.
And that’s exactly why I can’t go.
Me: Have fun and tell Riva I said hi. I’m actually pretty tired. Going to rest for a bit.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then drop the phone in my purse like it might bite me if I look at it too long.
The house is quiet when I let myself in, which shouldn’t feel wrong because this is how it was before Felix showed up at the cabin with Ellie. I lived here with only Max as company for months, and I liked having the space to myself without having to account for anyone else’s needs.
But now, instead of peaceful, the silence feels heavy. The living room looks empty with Ellie’s toys all tucked away. And the kitchen feels too big without Felix taking up space at the counter, kneading bread dough with those massive hands.
I sink onto the couch and pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them in a gesture that’s more a defense mechanism than a comfort stance. Max’s old dog bed is still in the corner, even though he’s been gone for over a month now. I should get rid of it, along with a lot of things that don’t serve any purpose except to make me feel anchored to a past that wasn’t that great to begin with.
Maybe what I need is a fresh start that doesn’t involve depending on anyone else to make me feel whole.
My phone buzzes again in my purse, but I ignore it. This is what standing on my own two feet means, right? I need to get comfortable with being alone.
I don’t need Felix and Ellie to make my house feel like a home.
So why does it feel like I’m punishing myself instead of proving something?
As I sit in the too-quiet living room of my childhood home, one hand drifts to rest on my stomach, and I try very hard to convince myself that this is what independence looks like.
I’m not afraid of accepting help like Casey suggested. But I’m terrified of depending on someone who might leave the moment things get hard. My father did exactly that before I was even born, and Bradley couldn’t handle it when I finally stood up for myself. So what will Felix do when he realizes that obligatory proposalsand playing house in a mountain cabin are very different from the actual work of building a life together?
The quiet house doesn’t seem to have any more answers than I do, so I close my eyes and try to figure out if what I’m doing is strength, or just the fear wearing a different mask.
23
FELIX
I adjustmy grip on the steering wheel and glance toward Tyler, who’s riding shotgun Friday morning as I head to the Grizzlies’ training facility for a mandatory meeting with the team and interviews with a few members of the press. He’s scrolling through his phone, probably texting Mindy. I should have argued harder when Piper said she and Ellie weren’t coming with me.
“Are we going to hide on the floor of your giant SUV?” she’d asked with a laugh when I issued the invitation this morning. She’d been standing in the kitchen with Ellie on her hip looking every inch a goddess–domestic and otherwise. “Or are you ready to explain either of us to your new teammates or to curious reporters?”
Of course she was right, but that didn’t stop the knot in my chest from tightening when I walked out the door without them. I’m not sure why things feel different today, but it’s like I don’t want to step back into my regular life without them, terrified of reality truly setting in.
“You’re doing it again,” Tyler says without looking up from his phone.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking so loud I can practically hear it.” He finally glances over at me. “You wanted them to come.”
“Piper didn’t think it was a good call.” I signal to change lanes. “She’s way smarter than me, as usual.”
