Page 73 of Break Point

I go back to my old faithful, the dark-blue sweatshirt I bought when I first visited Cordon three years ago. I stuff my feet into my sneakers, bending the heels because I’m too lazy to untie them. I’m struggling to straighten the right one when Taryn calls out from the front room with her usual “Honey, I’m home.”

“I’m in here. Hey, want to come to Slices with me? I need to let Amelia and Bryson down, and I could use your—”

Shit.

Bryson stops when he reaches the threshold of my bedroom door, and I flip my hair back as I right myself and give up on trying to fix my shoe.

“You can’t quit.”

I figured that would be his reaction, but I’ve practiced my speech dozens of times. I’m ready for his pushback.

“I’ve thought about it a lot. Truly.” I lick my lips, preparing myself to regurgitate the bullet points I wrote out this morning when I weighed all the reasons I should leave.

“How much is a lot?” Bryson asks before I make it to the first point.

I sigh, and my head falls to the side.

“I don’t know. A lot.” I shake my head in frustration.

“A lot as in days? A week maybe?” He frowns. I’m not sure if he’s angry or simply being stubborn.

“A day, I guess. Today. I thought about it today. I made a list.”

“Oooooh, you made a list,” he says, waving his hands in the air to mock me. I think he’s more mad than persistent. “I suppose you want to break up with me, yeah? Just clear the whole slate. Change your name, maybe dye your hair too.”

His lips pull into a defiant straight line, but my expression slips into a heavy one, dragged down by the guilt I’ve been trying to avoid since I decided I was packing it in.

“Wait, we’re breaking up?” His eyes slope on the sides, instantly weighed down with disappointment, and my stomach twists.

“It’s not because I want to,” I say, my voice raw while I hold the sudden sob away. I thought I’d be more prepared for this. When I practiced everything, I got through my speech before the tears came.

“Then don’t. I don’t want to break up either.” He moves into my bedroom, and it’s only then that I realize Amelia, Taryn, and Ashton are all clustered in the hallway listening to our every word.

My eyes widen, and my gaze swings from my doorway to the man who makes me feel things that I’m not sure I can handle. He sits on my bed.

“I thought we were alone,” I protest.

“Surprise,” he says in a sarcastic tone. There’s a little bite to it too.

“Can you guys give us a minute, please?” he hollers.

“Yeah,” Taryn responds. I can hear them whispering from here. My guess is they took a whole step away from the door, if that.

“Ugh,” I groan, dropping my chin to my chest.

“Why are you quitting on everything?” Bryson challenges.

I lift my head and meet his sincere gaze. I quake with a single, silent laugh.

“Bryson, I can’t get through the night without waking up in a panic attack that I’m going to have a seizure. And while I know you will offer to watch me while I sleep, that’s incredibly impractical. I’m so tired from my medication, and I don’t even know for sure if it’s going to continue to work. What if I have to wean off it and try something else?”

He shrugs.

“Then we’ll try something else. But we’ll tackle the ifs when they come. And sometimes, they don’t. Sometimes life works out.”

I admire his positivity, but I’m a realist. Maybe even a defeatist. I can’t stop the ifs from plaguing my mind.

“Amelia’s app is a success. She doesn’t need me anymore,” I say.