He looks so tired, so sad, so beat down. “I’m so sick of all the trash pieces in the media. I wanted to write something better, something real. And now all everyone’s ever going to think when they hear my name is I wrote a trash piece about my girl after writing about her father.”
“He’s… less than happy.” I’m still avoiding talking to him, but on my way to Robert’s house, I got a text from Dad saying to break up with Robert, or else. I’m not really sure what the “or else” means, but considering I’m not walking away from Robert, I guess we’ll find out. Dad has always been the follow-through parent. He rarely makes empty threats.
“I’m sorry. I should have been more careful with my material.”
The laugh I let out is louder than I expect it to be. “You mean you didn’t anticipate someone taking something off your hard drive?” I nudge him. “How could you?”
His haunted eyes meet mine. “I thought you’d think it was by me.”
“Had your name on it and everything. It didn’t read like your other pieces though; something was definitely off about it. Not to mention, I gave you the benefit of the doubt at the castle. Why would you think I wouldn’t do the same this time?” A pang of guilt makes me shudder because I didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt at all, did I? I overheard something with no context, made assumptions, and literally ran away. He’s given me nothing but reasons to trust him since the day we met, and yet, here we are, with me thinking he’s trying to ruin me again.
He cups my face with his warm palm, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “There’s nosmoke without fire. And you already threatened castration if I broke that rule. I don’t know. It made sense at the time.” He puts his hot chocolate down and drags his palms over his own face.
“It all came crashing down on my head in one go. My phone blew up with all manner of hate messages, the comments on the article all say I’m a prick who only dated you for the story… The walls closed in on me, Rhi.” He shrugs. “Mental health isn’t logical or conveniently timed, unfortunately.”
The urge to launch myself at him and squeeze him till he feels better is overwhelming, but he’s fragile, and I don’t want to make things worse. “I should have come over sooner.”
He shrugs. “I’d probably not have let you in.”
I search his face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m working with my therapist, trying to get the train back on the tracks. I’ll be okay. It feels silly to be honest. But I don’t get to decide what derails me, or when.”
I move to sit next to him on the sofa, pulling his head to my shoulder.
“I think I need to quit my job. I feel like I’m a ghost in my own career. What’s the point if all I do is break trust, even by accident?” His voice is a whisper, fragile, like it might shatter the walls around him.
I freeze. “You can’t.”
“I can’t be me anymore. Every word I wrote, every sentence, it’s like I poisoned the world I care about. I’m failing at everything I love.” The blanket slips off his shoulders as he curls tighter. His eyes, dark and haunted, look past me. “I feel invisible and dangerous at the same time. If I stay, I ruin someone else. If I leave, maybe I can breathe again.”
I grip his hand, nails digging in, desperate. “You’re not leaving. You’re not allowed to hide from the people who love you. You are not a ghost. And I am not going to watch you disappear.”
He shudders. “I don’t know who I am without this. Without writing. Without being needed. Maybe… maybe I’m nothing.”
I lift his chin, eyes boring in. “You are everything. And if you quit, you quit us. And I will not survive that.”
After a long and charged silence, I clear my throat. “I’ve been thinking I need to quit mine too actually.” It’s the first time I’ve voiced the thought from the recesses of my mind, but we both look at each other like it’s the worst idea we’ve ever heard.
“I have no fucking clue who I am without my job.” His wobbly voice drops further. “If the world didn’t need me for this, I’d vanish tomorrow. No friends, no deadlines, no columns, no hope. Just… nothing. And that’s terrifying.”
“You can’t quit your job.” My admonishment is harsher than I intended.
“You can’t either.”
We both laugh softly. “My team deserves better than constant scandal.”
“That’s your internalized misogyny talking. Think about how often your male counterparts are in the papers. Does anyone bat an eyelid?”
I groan. “I hate when you make rational points.”
He boops my nose with his index finger. “No, you don’t.”
“You don’t need to quit your job either.”
He heaves out a massive sigh. “Maybe I want to. Maybe it’s time to find something that’s more fulfilling than writing clickbait. Maybe I need my own Hot Girl Healing list, or a map of who I am when I strip away the mess everyone else calls my life. Maybe then I can stop hiding in stories that aren’t mine.” He squeezes my thigh. “But first, I need a shower. My girlfriend says I’m smelly. And then, if you’re open to it, I’d like to tell you about an old friend.”
CHAPTER 48
