Him.
“Will you stay?”
His eyes study mine and I hold my breath.
Then his mouth hitches up and his eyes warm.
“Yeah, baby. I’ll stay.”
Thirty-Four
Leo
I wanted to run today.
When I got that call.
When I realized what it meant.
I wanted to slice away at everything vulnerable, wanted to give in to those old feelings—better to end this, end us now, better to not hurt someone I care about, better to not hurt someone I love.
Then I realized…
I would bet my life that not once in my parents’ lives had that thought ever crossed their minds.
Their first thought wouldn’t have been worry for the person they supposedly loved.
It was for themselves—and only themselves.
What they wanted, what they needed.
And that’s when I realized what they had wasn’t love.
I was worried I was broken, that I didn’t have the capacity for a good relationship, that I would eventually poison everything good in it until it withered and died.
But. That. Wasn’t. Love.
I can’t imagine feeling what I feel for Harper and doing what they did.
Because it’s not what they had.
Because it’s not what they would do.
I’m different. I can be part of something better.
So now I’ve promised myself that whenever that old, toxic panic creeps in, the insecurities and worries threaten to take over, I’m going to do something nice for Harper.
Something she’ll love.
Something that will bring a smile to her face.
Something that shows her exactly how I feel.
My parents wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t even have the thought cross their minds.
But that’s great.
Because it’s more evidence that I’m not them, that I won’t ever allow myself to become them.
