I wonder if he’s familiar with that phrase or if it’s something his nephew had to teach him. Regardless, he’s right, and I feel my cheeks heat at my insecurity being put on display.
My confidence is bruised.
Battered.
I remember a time when I was the confident badass Bailey refers to when she makes me repeat the sentiment. But I haven’t been that woman in a long time, and even when there’s pockets of success, I feel twice as tired after the fact.
Like pretending to be confident drains me more than actuallybeingconfident.
And maybe it does.
When I don’t respond, he picks up his phone and taps away before handing it to me.
“Here.”
Cautiously taking it from him, I sigh as I scan the messages, feeling both better and worse than I did when I picked this fight with him.
ROYCE: How’s her mood?
TOM: Quiet so far this morning
ROYCE: I’m trying to trace back through the comments on social media to see where they originated from
ROYCE: You’re identified in several posts—she’s targeted for having or thinking she needs a bodyguard
TOM: She does need one
ROYCE: We know that, but the world doesn’t
ROYCE: Just be extra kind—she’s probably upset even if she doesn’t want to talk about it
TOM: I’m always nice
ROYCE: Professional isn’t nice. Be nice nice.
The last onemakes me smile as I hand his phone back to him. “Thanks.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” he tells me, his tone soft but firm as I drop my head back and look up at the ceiling.
“I know. But there are people out there that actually need you…people who are in real danger.” I swallow hard, trying to push back the layer of guilt as I meet his gaze.
“Youare in real danger.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
“But nothing has happened since the fire. Maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
“Kat.”
“Fine,” I relent, dropping into the chair across from him.
“What’s on your mind?”
“I’m bored, anxious, and I just want my life back.”
“And?”
