Page 5 of Safe With You

His face shifted then, not with anger or irritation, but something that looked a lot like guilt. The problem was that guilt had never changed anything before.

“I love you,” he said finally.

And the crazy thing was, I believed him.

That was the part that broke me.

Lucas loved me. I knew he did. I’d known what it felt like when his love was something I could settle into without questioning it. Even now, pieces of that man still showed up in the random affection, the late-night phone calls, the soft moments that felt so good they carried me through weeks of uncertainty afterward.

Maybe that was why I’d spent so long convincing myself those moments were enough.

But moments weren’t the same thing as stability, and love without consistency, intention, or effort had started to feel an awful lot like being unloved.

I stared at him quietly before asking the question I probably should’ve asked years ago.

“Then why do I always feel alone in this?”

Lucas looked down at his hands, and the silence that followed stretched longer than it should have. Long enough to hurt. Long enough to remind me that silence was an answer too.

Outside, a couple hurried down the sidewalk beneath a shared umbrella. The woman laughed about something while the man pulled her closer into his side like it was instinct.

I wondered what it felt like to be loved without constantly questioning it.

“You know I’m trying,” Lucas said quietly.

I nodded once. “I know you are.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

The exhaustion that hit me then felt bone-deep because how could I explain something I’d spent years trying to justify to myself? How could I explain that loving somebody who kept almost choosing you slowly started to feel like grief?

I looked down at my hands in my lap.

“I’ve never questioned whether you love me.”

His forehead creased. “Then what is this?”

I let out a slow breath. “I question whether I’m supposed to feel this lonely while being loved.”

The heater hummed softly beneath the dashboard while the rain danced against the roof of the car.

“I spend so much time convincing myself not to need anything,” I admitted. “I tell myself you’re busy. I tell myself you’ll call later. I tell myself tomorrow will be different.”

I laughed quietly, though nothing about it felt funny.

“I celebrate the smallest things because I’ve gotten used to expecting so little.”

Lucas stared ahead through the windshield, his jaw tight. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve wanted you to tell me.”

“I’ve been trying.”

His eyes fell to his hands. “I guess...” He paused. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”