“We all carry it,” he chokes out. “Me, Greyson, J.D., Noelle, Dad. It changed everything.”
His jaw trembles and I see his tears for the first time welling up behind his lids.
He adds, “We O’Ryan’s don’t speak it out loud, but it’s there. The feeling that … something good cost us something we can’t get back.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “Witt?” I ask, the words coming out softer than I expect.
I stretch my neck enough to give him a peck on the lips, letting it linger so he knows I care about his trauma too.
“We’ve spent our life walking on eggshells around him,” Parker admits, “Even now, there are conversations we don’t have in front of him.”
I track every expression. He’s vulnerable and sad, but he doesn’t let the pain define him.
“And you think that’s the same guilt I feel?” I askquietly because Parker did nothing wrong and what I did was a betrayal. I was weak and cowardly.
“No, but it’s a version of it.” Our eyes meet as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Guilt doesn’t have to make sense to exist,” he adds.
That hits harder than anything else he’s said. And I hate that he’s right.
After a moment, he says, “I don’t see you as broken. I see someone who survived something she shouldn’t have had to.”
His explanation settles deep inside me. Because I want to believe him. Believing things has never ended well for me.
I shift, pushing myself up on my elbow, needing space.
“I should go.”
His hand catches mine with cat-like reflexes. “Oh no,” he challenges. “You’re not leaving without a full belly.”
I blink and let out a half-laugh. “What?”
“Since we’ve been talking about my mom, she would be ashamed of me if I let you walk out without feeding you.”
“She might be more ashamed that you’re sleeping with your performance coach and feeding me isn’t necessary.”
He sits up, arms hanging over his knees. “It’s non-negotiable.”
I shake my head, but I don’t argue. Because part of me likes this.
The normalcy.
The ease.
Having someone care about me.
He springs up and slides on his lightweight black sweatpants and I admire the muscles in his back and of course his abs.
“Come down when you’re ready.”
I sit with a sheet wrapped around my body, feeling happier than I have in years. I see one of Parker’s shirts lying on the dresser, so I pick it up, pulling it to my nose, and I slide it over my head, enjoying the lingering scent of his cologne.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon, warm and familiar. Parker moves around the kitchen like he’s fed his guests a hundred times.
“You cook?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
“I have many talents, as you now know.” He throws me a mischievous grin.
“That’s not exactly what I asked. You’re good at deferring.”
