Page 165 of True Blue

“I shouldn’t have made you do that,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. “It was… controlling. And wrong.”

Teddy tilts his head back and forth in a so-so motion.

“It was. But maybe I needed to know that you could take control without ever hurting me—and you didn’t,” he shrugs. “And maybe I needed to give you that because I wanted you to feel heard by me.”

I study his face. “You didn’t feel… like I was degrading you or…”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Instead I felt…”

“You felt?” I prompt after he trails off, eyes narrowed like he's trying to work through his thoughts. His cheeks color slightly; something dark and heated flashes across his face for a moment before he smiles.

“Trust," he says finally, nodding once. "In you.”

And that makes my gut clench.

“I don’t think I trust you,” I admit in a shameful whisper. “Not completely. Not yet.”

“That’s okay,” Teddy soothes. “But I would like the opportunity to rebuild that with you. If you’d let me.”

“As friends?” I clarify, and Teddy doesn’t look disappointed at that, like I had expected. Instead, his eyes light up and a wide smile spreads across his face.

“I would love that, Indie.”

“It’ll be slow,” I caution quickly. “Like… glacial.”

“I can do glacial,” he shrugs like it’s nothing.

“I won’t make you crawl again, I promise.”

“What if I ask nicely next time?” Teddy wiggles his eyebrows jokingly.

“Teddy!” I say, burying my beet-red face in my hands and hiding my smile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles.

“You’ve perfected saying that,” I mumble.

“Glad I’m excelling at something.”

“You excel at many things, Teddy. Don’t cut yourself short.”

Teddy goes still and just looks at me for a long time. I look back at him, and slowly, a smile spreads across his face.

“Thank you, Indie.”

I shrug, needing to look away before I overheat. “It’s just the truth.”

“Still…” he whispers, his voice thick.

I stand from the table, and Teddy follows my lead, taking the photo album with him. I walk him to my front door and, out of the corner of my eye, see him looking all around my place, scanning the walls and rooms he can see.

That’s when I realize the drawings—the Europe ones—I framed and was going to hang tonight are leaning against the far wall in the living room. His eyes are on me, but I can’t meet them yet. Not without combusting into pieces.

“Could you… make copies of those,” I say, pointing to the album after I pull open the front door. “I’d like to have them.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, stepping out into the hall. He turns back to me and sighs, “Indie? Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Teddy,” I nod before clearing my throat. “And thank you for… understanding. I really am sorry, and I⁠—”