“I want to create my own narrative. Fight back and reclaim my power. The lies and secrets from my past; I want to leave them there where they belong. I just…” I pause. “I don’t know if it’s as easy as ‘just take it one step at a time’ like everyone always says.”
“You said you’re not good at opening up. Is there a reason you chose me to be the one you’re opening up to?” His words are impossible to ignore.
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” he says, voice barely a whisper.
“I like talking to you,” I say to him. “It feels as if I can tell you anything and nothing at the same time, and you’ll just… be here. You keep showing up when I’ve given you no reason to. I ran from you, and you’re still here. When I look at you, your eyes don’t see me as someone who’s… broken.”
His hand stretches for me, cupping my face, and I know what he sees on my cheeks. A blush creeps up, darkening under his gaze as he stares into my eyes.
“I feel the same way,” he admits, voice rough around the edges.
“I want to keep talking to you.” I let out a shaky breath. “I like you, Chase. I shouldn’t, but I do. I just… I don’t know how to do this.”
I pause, registering my words as they vibrate against my ribcage, but I don’t look away, and I don’t take my words back.
Because I mean them.
“I like you too, Erin,” he says, his confession settling into my bones.
“Do you think you can be patient with me while I figure it out?”
“I’ll be anything you want me to be, sweetheart, for as long as you’ll have me.”
The words wrap around me, a lifeline in the chaos, and this time when I let out a breath, it feels as though I’m surrendering, letting him be the safety net I didn’t realize I needed.
The truth is, I want this. I want him. And it terrifies me more than anything. Because when I look at Chase, it dawns on me that he might not leave.
And that’s the scariest thing of all.
“Damn,”Erin whispers.
I’m standing behind her. I have been for a while now.
She’s on my sofa, tucked into the corner. Her legs are pulled into her chest. A bowl of nachos balances on her left knee. And there’s an open book resting on her thighs that’s being held open by her phone being pressed horizontally into it.
Since she got the project with Ink and Print, she’s been immersed in all things hockey, trying to learn everything about the sport to better her marketing plan for the task she’s been given. Part of her research consists of watching games, which is why she’s currently invested in a YouTube clip of me playing hockey.
She’s been wary of my sensitivity, but I’ve reminded her that I won’t break if she talks hockey with me or wants to watch a game.
It’s been pleasant talking to her about it.
I’m not sure when hockey started to become a welcoming distraction, but I wonder if the change has stemmed from hearing Erin talk about wanting to write her own narrative and take control.
Helping her learn has been a surprising comfort, especially with Marcus’s words still running through my mind.
Brax hasn’t learned anything new, but he did say that he’d reach out to the Healey’s. I haven’t heard anything more from him on the matter. At least not yet.
I cancel out the space between us as quietly as I can and lean in close to her ear. “You didn’t tell me you were a stalker, Bookworm,” I whisper.
She yelps and jolts forward. The bowl of nachos flies to the floor. Her book and phone go with it.
She gets up and immediately starts scooping the chips back into the bowl.
I move to help her.
“Sorry,” she says quickly. “I was just… sorry,” she says again, shaking her head. I pick up her phone and look at the clip she’s watching.
