Shiloh, who’s been sniffing at my feet, scurries over, eager to greet Noah.
He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest, focus fixed on me and expression gentle.
“She would have loved you.” With a low laugh, he shakes his head. “I know that’s an odd thing to say. I wouldn’t have even met you. I mean, I would never…”
I close the space between us and push up on my tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “I know what you mean,” I assure him. “And I love you, too.”
I’m done holding back. Life is short. Relationships are complicated. But there’s nothing timid or fleeting about my feelings for this man.
“I love you so much, honey.” He weaves his hands into my hair and kisses me again. “So, so much,” he emphasizes when he pulls back.
I sink into his hold, pouring every ounce of hope I possess into our embrace.
Keep me.
Love me.
Thank you.
Let me be here for you, always.
When we break apart, he cups my face and traces the freckles on my cheek with his thumb. “I’m heading out for a little bit. Since your friends said the roads were clear, I’m going to check on Edna. Want to come with me?”
Always.
Forever and always, I want to be with this man.
“I’ll tag along,” I reply. “Let me give Mercer and Tytus a heads-up so they know where we’re going. Give me five minutes?”
“I’ll find some layers that’ll fit you,” Noah says. “We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.”
Chapter fifty-three
Mercer
I’m wrecked by the time my therapy session wraps up, both physically and emotionally. Despite the positive developments over the last few days, I have significant work ahead of me.
I backslid swiftly and severely, my choices coming from a place of fear and jaded self-preservation. And now that I’m thinking more clearly and can see that, I’m having a hard time trusting myself again. There’s a boulder of shame pressing into the center of my chest, making it hard to breathe. Between my propensity for self-loathing and my competence kink, it’s going to takesignificant effort to displace the boulder and not allow it to crush me completely.
If only I’d recognized the signs and, I don’t know, not spiraled? I spiraled, and kept spiraling, and I hurt people. My therapist reminded me today that we don’t get to plan and prepare for the rough patches.
Then there was the temptation to cope by cutting, a temptation I almost gave into several times.
The urge to distract myself from the mental anguish by physically marring my body is still there. In time, the urge will fade, like it has in the past. But the last few weeks have served as a staggering wake-up call that I will always have to actively tend to and care for my mental health.
There’s no guarantee I won’t spiral again. There’s no way to predict when the rough patches will hit.
But I can weave together a stronger safety net. That’s what I’m focusing on now. Noah, Sawyer, and even Tytus make up the fabric of my support network. If and when I slip, they’ll ensure I don’t fall too far or too hard.
As I bound down the stairs, my body screams to move, my soul needing to be useful. Helpful. Sawyer and Noah should be at Edna’s for a while still, and a glance out the window confirms that the porch, stairs, and walkway here are still covered in snow.
Shoveling will give me a productive outlet for my pent-up frustration, so I detour to my room for a few extra layers and to check in with Tytus.
He doesn’t hear me when I enter, a set of my noise-canceling headphones covering his ears and his focus fixed firmly on the laptop he borrowed, so I rap my knuckles against the door frame loudly to get his attention.
When he lifts his head and pulls down the headphones, I step into the room.
“How’s it going?” I make my way over to my closet and search through the small wardrobe I keep here, selecting a long-sleeve base layer and a well-worn Holt University crew neck.
