"He told me some of it."
"Some." Blake looks at his hands. "He got here in September with four bags and someone who has decided they're fine and needs everyone to believe it." He pauses. "Couldn't eat dinner. I made breakfast on day three without being asked because it was the only thing I could offer that he couldn't avoid. He sat at the counter and ate and stared at the wall and I could see how hard he was working just to be here." Another pause. "He didn't sleep for two weeks. I could hear it through the wall. Just awake. All night."
My jaw is tight.
"He built himself back," Blake says. "Everything you see — the way he jokes, the confidence, all of it — he built that from the ground up after someone tore it down and left him in the dirt." He looks at me. "He let you in. You understand what thatmeans for him? After everything? That is not a small thing. That is the biggest thing he's done since he got here."
"I know," I say.
"Do you know why he did it?"
I don't answer.
"Because he trusts you," Blake says. "Not blindly. Not stupidly. He knows the difference now. He's had to learn the hard way what it looks like when someone isn't going to choose him and he looked at you and decided you were different." He stands up. "I don't know what your father taught you about yourself. But whatever it was — Rhys looked at you and decided your father was wrong." He moves toward the door. "He's not going to chase you. If you go quiet long enough he'll close the door on you and that's it."
He stops at the frame.
"He still has nightmares about Eldridge," Blake says. "The things that happened there that he doesn't talk about. He'll carry that forever." He looks at me over his shoulder. "He opened up to you anyway. That's who he is. That's what you'd be walking away from."
He leaves.
I stand in the middle of my room.
For a long time I just stand there.
Then I sit on the edge of the bed.
Pick up my phone.
Find his name.
Press call.
He picks up on the second ring.
"Hey."
Careful.
Like he's not sure what version of this call he's getting.
"Hey." I close my eyes. "I'm sorry I left."
"Okay," he says, unsure.
"I need — I can't see you right now. I need some time." I pause. "But I didn't want to just say nothing. You deserve an explanation."
A pause.
"Okay," he says again.
The line is quiet.
"Can we just talk?" I say. "Like this. On the phone? I can’t say what I have to say in person, it’s too much for me right now."
A longer pause.
Then, quietly, "Yeah. We can do that."
