“I can’t change it,” I continue. “And that’s what kills me. I can’t go back and be the man you needed. But I can try my hardest to be him now, if you’ll let me.”
She studies me like she’s still searching for any sign I’ll run off again.
“I’m not running anymore,” I say firmly. “Not when it’s hard, not when it hurts, and not when it makes me look weak. I’m done pretending I’m invincible. I don’t want to be strong if it means I lose you.”
Her breathing begins to level out and the tremors in her body settle.
“I was so scared you’d leave,” she admits quietly.
“I did leave,” I say, shaking my head. “And I’m so sorry.”
I press my forehead to hers.
“But I came back,” I whisper. “And I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Not from this. Not from you.”
Zalea exhales slowly, like she’s letting herself believe it just a little. I pull her back into my chest and hold her there. I want to make damn sure she never feels alone in it again.
She stays in my arms for a long time after that, long enough that my breathing steadies completely and the silence between us doesn’t feel like it’s about to split open.
Eventually, she pulls back just enough to put space between our bodies. Enough to remind me that closeness and forgiveness are not the same thing.
Her eyes search mine again, still guarded. “I forgive you,” she says quietly, and relief hits me so fast, it almost knocks the air out of my lungs again. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“I don’t expect you to,” I answer, shaking my head.
She nods, once, looking relieved that I’m not arguing. “You ran when things got hard, and while I understand why you spiraled, I can’t pretend that didn’t hurt.”
My chest tightens, but I force myself to sit with the feeling. “I know.”
“And I don’t want to be in a relationship where I’m constantly wondering if the next hard thing is going to send you packing.”
“It won’t,” I say instinctively, and she raises her brows.
“I believe you believe that,” she says. “But that’s different from me feeling safe.”
I nod slowly, “Okay.”
She lets out a deep breath. “I need time,” she continues. “Time to see that you’re not going to disappear when it’s inconvenient. Time to rebuild what we broke. I can’t just…snap my finger and be okay.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “Take all the time you need.”
She hesitates before adding, “I have a trip this upcoming weekend for a class assignment, but I’m scared to leave now that you’re back.”
My stomach dips. “I could just come with you then.”
She shakes her head. “I want you to come, believe me, but I think I should go alone,” she says carefully. “To prove that you’ll still be here when I get back, and to prove to myself that my world doesn’t just revolve around you.”
The old version of me would have panicked at that. I would have tried to convince her to let me come, to fix it faster. But I already know what pushing does.
“Okay,” I say.
Her shoulders relax an inch.
“Okay?” she repeats.
“Okay,” I nod. “Go. Take the weekend to clear your head. I’ll be here when you get back.”
She studies me, testing for cracks.
