But I miss her something fierce, and I’m finding it hard to focus on anything else.
I miss how she takes up the entire bed when she sleeps and the feel of her bare skin against mine. How her lashes flutter when she’s dreaming. Grilled cheese with our toes pressed together on the middle cushion. Imiss her stealing bites of my food and the tiny twitch of her mouth when she’s secretly proud of herself. The exact color of her eyes when she’s about to say something snarky. The way she smells and tastes. The sound of her laugh and her little growl. My lips on her tattoos and her hands in my hair.
I miss her. Period.
So I’ll probably keep checking that door. Ican’t help it.
“Are you finally ready to admit you’re down bad?” Maddox arches a brow.
All I can offer in response is a sigh. Iknow I am. He knows I am. Idon’t have to say it out loud.
The days of silence are wearing on me. Even soccer practice—my one chance at seeing her—got rained out yesterday. My fingers are itching to open our text thread and send her random updates on my day, ask her how she’s doing, find out if she’s remembering to eat something other than cereal.
But every time I pick up my phone to contact her, something heavy drops in my stomach. Our conversation is still rattling around in my head constantly. She wanted to leave, and that hurts all the way down to my bones. Iknow that seems to be her track record when things get hard, but I didn’t think I would be included in that. She’s battling all kinds of doubts and insecurities and grief, but my heart aches when I think about how easily she pushed me away.
I was ready to tell her I’m in love with her. She was ready to run.
And the fact that she knew right where to stab me... it fractured something I thought we had mended.
Dave called me yesterday and said his bowling league had an opening—apparently his friend Steve is moving—and I jumped at the opportunity to join them. Iwon’t lie, I went there hoping to dig up some information about Fable, but once I heard she was with her sisters, I let it go. At least she has people with her and she’s not driving across the country without a word to anyone.
For the record, I ended up having a blast at bowling. Those old guys know how to have a good time and letting go of the last few days to enjoy myself with them was more freeing than I expected.
Maddox tips his head. “You doing okay?”
I swallow a sip of water, trying to decide on my answer. I’m surprised when “I started therapy this week” comes out of my mouth.
His brows lift slightly. “That’s great. How was it?”
That’s a bit of a loaded question. Therapy should really come with a warning label:Beware! Gets worse before it gets better!Turns out I have to pick open every scab and prod at what’s underneath to make any progress.
“It’s certainly not fun to dredge everything back up.” I shrug. “But my therapist said if I want the wounds to heal the right way this time, we have to give them some attention. And I’ve been ignoring them for too long.”
Pride flickers behind his eyes. “How can I support you in this?”
There’s a rush of pressure in my throat. It’s such a simple question, but so profoundly thoughtful. My voice comes out watery when I tell him, “Thank you for even asking.”
With a nod, he stands and comes to my side of the table, pulling me up and into a hug. And in the middle of the Branch, both of us smelling like smoke and sweat, we hold each other tightly.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” I admit. I’m proud that I’m going forme. Not because it will make Mia or Mom happy and not because I think it’ll fix anything with Fable. I’m going for myself, and at the core of it, I think that’s the most important part.
When we’re both back in our seats, Maddox lifts his water glass and I meet it with mine. “Now, tell me how I can support you.”
I down a sip. “It might be helpful if you wanted to check in and make sure I’m attending my appointments. We’re starting with a two-a-week schedule for the foreseeable future. In the past, I’ve brushed them off or made excuses that there were more important ways to spend my time. So, some casual check-ins might keep me on track.”
“I’m on it,” he assures me.
My face scrunches up. “You might be ‘on it’ for a while. According to my therapist, this is a long-term thing.”
Earlier this afternoon, he explained, “Healingis an ongoing process for the rest of your life. Idon’t have a stamp in my office where I give you a seal of approval that you’re healed. Your goal is not to check off ‘therapy’ on your to-do list and then go about the rest of your life. As hard as it is to hear, we’re in this for the long haul.”
Maddox grins. “You know I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
I let out a breath of relief. “Perfect. You’re stuck with me too.”
Our conversation meanders for a while. We talk about his boys and Vivian, Mia and Bree’s wedding plans, and rehash the fire we got called to this afternoon.
