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Myself, I think, but I can’t say the word out loud, instead the sound that comes out of me is wild and feral, wet with heartache and fury.
“Quinn,” my name sounds dark and heavy, ripped from the center of his chest as he crushes me to his body. “You don’t always have to be strong. There’s no shame in needing help. I can hold things together for you if you just let me.”
We’re rocking back and forth as I press my palms into my eyes. The pressure from my hands can’t stop the shaky tears. Nothing can. Every piece of me aches as if I’m sick, from my toes to my belly button, to my eyelashes. My throat stings as I gasp in breath and after breath. My lungs don’t feel like they're getting full enough and I try to suck in more air, choking on each sob.
“Is it another tumor?” Erik asks and I barely hear him over the whoosh of air cycling through my ears. I pause before I shake my head. It’s not. At least not yet, but they’ve been wrong before. “Good.” He tucks my face into the hollow of his neck. “That’s good, baby girl.” Then he lets me cry.
It might be hours later, or seconds, or years, or maybe only five minutes, but Erik holds on through the worst of it. By the time I can swallow between wails, and my body has stopped shaking, the entire front of his shirt is wet and still he doesn’t shift me away. I’m tired. Bone-deep tired. It’s more than the last two days on red alert, more than a night in an uncomfortable chair, guilt pouring over my head like a monsoon. I’m tired enough that I could fall asleep right here in my ratty clothes. Blink and open my eyes a decade from now.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean to sit up, to move off his lap, but my bones aren’t working right, they’ve dissolved inside my skin, so I stay where I am.
“Do you have anyone you can talk to?” Erik asks, pushing my hair back from my damp skin.
My head lolls back when I try to shake it.
“My dad has someone, a therapist. He said you recommended them.” I’d blush if I thought I had the energy. “I haven’t looked for myself.”
“I can recommend some names for you too,” Erik tells me. “You deserve someone in your corner. You and your dad deserve that.”
“Right. It can’t be you.” It’s not a question, but maybe it is a tiny bit. Maybe he can be the one I call and talk to. Maybe that’s what he’s offering, and I should say no—we don’t need another thing tying our star-crossed hearts together—but maybe, just maybe, I want to be tied to him, anyway.
But Erik shakes his head, “It can’t be me, Quinn.”
I nod, full of a bravado I don’t actually feel. “I know. It would be hard for you to be my therapist all the way from Chicago.” My heart has no reason to break, not over a man, not while my dad is in surgery, but it’s cracking down the center.
“No, Quinn.” Erik leans away from me so I can see the frown creasing his handsome face. “I work with remote patients all the time.”
Are those the pieces of my heart crumbling into dust? Maybe. I knew the score. This was why I pulled back. This man can destroy me without even trying. Even when I know there’s nothing to destroy.
“I can’t be your therapist because it would be insanely unethical.”
“Because we fucked.” That has to be it, right? I’m sure there’s a no-fraternization policy or something. I guess I thought it wouldn’t matter if we weren’t going to be doing that anymore.
“Because it would be inappropriate for me to offer any sort of treatment plan to someone I have feelings for.”
My heart must not have crumbled at all, because there it is, pounding, pounding, pounding in my chest as I stare at this darling man.
“You have to have known.” He says as his fingers trace the shape of my lips. “I’ve been obvious. Even my mother guessed. And my brother.”
“Guessed…” I can’t get my brain to connect to my mouth. Or any other part of me.
“I’m in love with you, Quinn. Probably since that first night at the Arctic game. I wasn’t going to tell you here. Not like this. Not when you have zero mental capacity for what I’m telling you, but you have to know. I love you, Quinn Cooper, and you aren’t alone.”
“I love you.” I couldn’t stop the words if I wanted to. A horde of butterflies is winging through my belly. I feel like I might throw up, like I’ve just reached the top of the tallest roller coaster and I’m about to tip over the edge. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I do.”
Erik’s mouth is on mine before my declaration stops ringing in my ears. His lips are warm and soft against my tear-wet ones. His tongue takes ownership of my mouth, pressing deep to curl around mine. His fingers fist in the fabric of my sweatshirt. His other hand circles my throat. I moan into his mouth and feel his lips quirk into a smile against mine. We pass wet kisses back and forth until I can barely breathe. Until I can’t remember my name. Until I’m thinking about dragging him to the tiny bathroom.
Then something clatters in the hallway and I remember where we are, shame rushing through my limbs. I’m not ashamed of Erik, or what I feel for him, but this isn’t the time or place.
“What happens next?” I say when his eyes blink open and find mine. “You still live in Chicago and I live here.” I can’t leave my dad and Erik still needs space from his family.
He looks pained as he shakes his head. “Nothing’s changed, Quinn. Except now we both know. And maybe next time you can call me directly.”
“Won’t it hurt too much?” I was trying to get space even before I knew he loved me. Will it hurt more or less to stay away this time?
“I am yours however you want me.” Erik says. “You call? I’ll answer. You text? I’ll write back. You need me? I’ll be on the first plane. You want commitment? There’s no one else for me.” He presses our foreheads together. “You want space? I’ll give you whatever you ask for.”
I want Erik. I want him with me, and I don’t want him with anyone else, but I don’t know what I want to do next. I can barely think beyond this moment, this day. Could we really do long distance? Could we be something? If my dad’s doing well, I could go out to him in the summers, breaks. He could visit sometimes, too. Is it worth it?
