Page 114 of Under Pressure

I sound . . . void of emotion. And it’s scary. This goes far deeper than just my feeble attempts at being nonchalant or unbothered. There’s no misinterpreting this as anything other thansad.

“I could shake you.Hard. You know better than this.”

My jaw jumps. “I’m really not in the mood, Ruthie.”

“Does it look like I care if you’re in the mood?” She abandons the icing bag in her hand, leaving the sugar cookie she wasdecorating with “Mr. & Mrs. Shore” with only the first two words outlined. “You made a mistake.”

“I haven’t even told you what happened.”

She laughs humourlessly. “You didn’t need to. I love you dearly, Quinn, like you are my own granddaughter, but you are predictable. You fell in love hard, and that scares you. It didn’t feel natural. And now he hasn’t been here in four days. That’s not natural, either.”

I glare at her, ripping my gloves off. They hit the trash silently, yet I can hear the impact like the bang of a drum.

“Why are you so angry with me? You hardly knew him. Why do you care if he never comes back?”

“Because he brought new life to this place! To you, Quinn. I didn’t need to know everything about him to see the way you two were together. To see the way he looked at you like you hung the moon and the sun and every single star in his sky. You don’t throw away a love like that.”

My heart roars in agreement, still at odds with my mind. I ache so deeply it’s wormed its way into my soul. I can’t feel anything but the fissures in my heart that he held together for so many months, even when I hadn’t shown them to him. Now they’re open wounds again, and all I taste is metal.

The stubbornness inside of me has no end to it, though. It never has. Not when it comes to protecting myself, even at the expense of losing someone—something—so precious to me.

“Beck has always looked at me and seen something shiny. I’ve been perfect in his eyes for so long that I refuse to show him just how imperfect I really am. Once he learned the truth, he’d have left either way. I’d complicate things that were supposed to be fun and easy, and that’s just reality. We were living in a fantasy world, Ruthie. This is a clean break for him. He doesn’t need me.”

I rush out of the room the moment my chest quakes. There shouldn’t be any tears left to cry after how many have found mypillow. Yet they fall ruthlessly, too fast for me to wipe them away. They smear across my cheeks and chin.

Regret. I feel so much regret.

The emptiness of the office unsettles me further. I stare at the empty dog bed and the dog-sized Blank Page apron resting atop it. Bodi’s blanket and stuffed giraffe are still there, and I blink to clear my vision, wishing I’d at least been able to drop these off.

Someone dropped off my overnight bag the night I came home to my empty apartment and found it completely finished. Not a single screw on the floor or particle of sawdust in the air. It wasn’t Beck who delivered it. I never asked Eli for confirmation, but I just knew.

It’s the same instinct that told me he wasn’t coming in for any more coffee or to try to flirt his way into a date with me. There won’t be any more terrible park jobs or a giant baseball player crouching over my sink, wearing neon green gloves while he scrubs dishes. No more bingo nights or burger runs that end with a make-out session in the cramped back seat.

His friends won’t ask me to go to baseball games with them again, and I wouldn’t want to go, anyway. Watching him play the sport he loves while knowing I won’t be the woman waiting in the family suite for him afterward . . .

Strong, wrinkled hands grip my shoulders and forcefully turn me around. Ruthie’s features are crumpled, but her eyes remain determined, so bright with her confidence. She brings her hands to my head and holds me in place, forcing me to stare at her.

“You. Are. Not. Damaged. Goods. You went through hardship, but you’re not any less worthy of love because of it. If anything, it makes you deserve it more. And walking away before you can tell Beck everything you need to is only doing the both of you a disservice. If you didn’t trust him, you wouldn’t have suggested him as a fake boyfriend or called him the night your pipes burst. His home became yours because you felt safe there. He is safe, isn’t he?”

I drop my head, and she holds it up for me. Her touch feels so familiar to me, as though it’s my nan in front of me instead. The thought sends a fresh wave of tears down my face. I sob, and then she guides my face to her chest, holding me there.

“I hurt him,” I whisper.

“So fix it.”

“He won’t want to hear what I have to say now. I messed up so badly.”

“You don’t fall out of love with someone simply because they hurt you. There’s always time to ask for a second chance.”

“He joked about grovelling once.” My laugh is wet. “Turns out I’m the one who has to.”

She breathes against my ear and rubs my back with soft strokes. “You’ve never been one for gender norms. Plus, we both know that women can grovel better than men can.”

I hope to God she’s right.

The rage I’ve been battling since I turned my back on Beck and left him standing alone in the bullpen has become a constant. It clings to my skin and poisons my heart like a disease eating piece after piece of the useless organ. I deserve the discomfort, even with my growing plans for how I’m going to somehow convince him to take me back.

I’ve never been so ashamed of myself. Never wished that I could have been more different or that I’d taken the time to work through my shit before it cost me someone like him. Everything would have been avoided if I’d just . . . grown up, I guess. Moved on.