Chapter
Vivian
* * *
“Thank you for today,” I said as he turned down his mother’s street. I was a bit conflicted about where we’d ended our heavy make-out session earlier. Part of me was desperate for more, but I also appreciated Lennon’s restraint. The opposing emotions warred within me, leaving me with a dull headache. “I had lots of fun.”
“That sounds like a dismissal.”
“It…kind of is.” I swallowed, the concern pushing past my desire to simply go for it with him. “I…I want to take us slow, like you said.” Do I? I closed my eyes.
He sighed. “I pushed too hard today.”
I shook my head. “I want to trust that you want me, not just my body, not just sex, or sexy games. But once my head cleared, and I got to thinking…”
“You’re a bit ambivalent about a future with me because the feelings you have for me scare you.”
There was something wonderful and irritating about being with an intuitive man. I sighed because he’d nailed my mixed emotions better than I’d been able to. “Yes.”
“If it makes it better… Never mind.”
“What?”
He pulled into the driveway and stopped. “I don’t think it’ll be helpful.”
“Lennon, talk to me. Please. I can’t take the not knowing.”
He sighed. “I hope this doesn’t grow the chasm between us, but I think part of why I was so adamant about protecting you by pushing you away was because, ultimately, that decision protected me. You couldn’t break my heart or reject me if we weren’t together.”
The first emotion that hit me was anger, followed almost immediately by bitterness. I stared out the front windshield, trying to absorb the emotions clobbering me.
“I made it worse,” he said.
“Not worse,” I replied after a moment. “And I think you’re correct. But that doesn’t mean it felt good to hear. I’m trying to figure out how to respond.”
“You’re mad.”
I shook my head as I turned to face him. His eyes were filled with shadows. “No. I felt that first, but it was grief.” I huffed a laugh. “It’s almost always grief and not anger. For me, anyway. No…I appreciate the honesty. In fact, I applaud you for being vulnerable. But it hurts.” I swallowed. “To hear you say you pushed me away even subconsciously to protect yourself. That really freaking hurts.”
“I wish I could redo the day after the attack. Or the week after. All of it.”
“But you can’t.”
He nodded. “I can’t. All I can do is my best moving forward, knowing I’ve already got one huge strike against me.” He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. “I made a terrible mistake. I hate that it hurt you. I wish I could undo it, but I also know that fixating on past actions won’t mean I make smarter, better decisions in the future. So I’m trying to lay it all out there, Vivi. I’m trying really hard to show you that you can trust me with your heart—and with your fears and even the bits of yourself you aren’t sure are loveable. I want you to be comfortable, to be wholly you with me and know that’s safe.”
Tears burned my eyes as I leaned forward and kissed him. It was a simple brush of the lips, but it felt marvelous. Right. “I’ll do my best,” I told him. “Now I think it’s best for me to go in. I want to double check some of the meds I have on hand for your mom and review the schedule.” I paused. “And I’m going to go over and over this conversation, obsessing and dissecting it, because I need to be sure I know where we’re going. Where I want to go.”
He leaned closer and kissed my forehead. “I care about you, Vivian—more than care, so I won’t push you.”
The next week was a haze. Lola came through her surgery well but struggled to expel the anesthesia from her body. Lennon and his sisters, Nina and Mia, all visited, and I finally had to kick them out of Lola’s room so she could fall asleep. Then, I went out into the living room and held Lennon’s hand as he shook. His sisters had gone home, giving us privacy. We hadn’t revisited our conversation from the other day. Right now, Lennon was too raw with worry for his mother. And then he had to go. Lennon left Belladonna with me after his mom’s procedure because he flew out the next morning for a five-day road trip.
As she recovered, Lola was stoic and stubborn, much like her son, but also more willing to ask for help. As I knew I would, I continued to go over and over my conversation with Lennon. I didn’t have to worry about seeing him, so that gave me time to obsess and dissect.
I was still grappling with my response to his fears. Ultimately, I realized that if he was afraid of me hurting him, Lennon was already in just as deeply as I was. He’d given me that truth, even though it wasn’t pretty, and he deserved mine back.
“I came here for him,” I told his mother one evening late in the week.
“I know,” Lola said.
