I wanted to tell him they didn’t need me, and that he didn’t need to lie and pretend for my sake. But I couldn’t. Hunter might be a lot of things, but I didn’t think he was a liar. If he was, Jonny or Devon would have said something.
But I didn’t need their assurance. I’d experienced Hunter’s honesty firsthand—the way he’d poured his heart out to me when he was worried about Bailey, how open he’d been about his desire to be fucked, and now the way he spoke about his experiences with his eating disorder and asking for help. If he wanted to lie to me, why would he have done any of those things?
No, Hunter wasn’t a liar. And it would be beyond dickish for me to accuse him of that.
The problem was the truth was fucking terrifying.
If he and Bailey liked me, if I meant something to both of them, then that meant there was a chance for this, for us. And I didn’t know how to deal with that.
Hunter put his other hand across my stomach, like he was worried I was going to try and roll off him and run. He smiled down at me, and my chest tightened painfully, the muscles aching. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t worth it, that loving me would only bring him and Bailey pain, but I couldn’t.
Because some small part of me wanted him to notice me, to see how desperately I was trying to run while simultaneously crying out to be loved, and to hold me tightly until I gave in.
“I… I like you too,” I said. It was barely more than a whisper. I didn’t know if he could hear me over the TV and the sound ofBailey in the kitchen, singing along to every song on his playlist. “I’m not good at this.”
“You don’t need to be,” Hunter said. “It’s hard to ask for the things you want.”
“Don’t use my own words against me,” I said with a huffed laugh.
“I’m not. I’m just reminding you.”
“Why?”
“So you know that I get it. This is new for all of us, and we have no idea what we’re doing. But that’s okay. We can be scared, and confused, and?—”
“Fucking terrified?”
“Yeah. But it’s okay. We can figure it out.”
“Can we?”
“Yeah, we can. Because we’re fucking awesome, and we’re not letting our brains hold us back. Not when they’re wrong.”
He sounded so sure, and I wanted to believe every word. But fuck, it was hard.
I’d spent years convincing myself I was better off alone. That it would be easier.
But for who?
Not for me.
I mean, it might be at first. There was no way I’d get hurt then. Being by myself meant being safe. It also meant being really fucking lonely. And as much as I wanted to pretend this was only about sex, it wasn’t. Not anymore.
Tonight had practically been a fucking date!
When was the last time I’d been on one of those?
I didn’t actually know. Years probably. Which, at twenty-seven, sounded pretty fucking sad.
How had I even gotten to this point? I couldn’t point to some horrific breakup I’d had in my early twenties and say,Yes, this is where all my trauma comes from. It was more like a seriesof small cuts I’d allowed to fester, little wounds I’d shrugged off and ignored, pretending they meant nothing while slowly closing myself down. It had been so gradual, and so simple, I hadn’t noticed until the damage was done. Then I’d kept on denying it was a problem because it hadn’t felt like one.
Nothing ever did when you refused to examine it closely.
I couldn’t be traumatised if I didn’t admit the trauma was there in the first place.
Nevertheless, the hurts were always there, whether I wanted to acknowledge them or not. The question was what I did about them. I could keep running, or I could stop and try something new.
I just had to be brave. And that was the hardest thing of all.
