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“I think we focused on the wrong thing. We should’ve focused on how we helped each other instead, because even if we were making each other worse, we were still helping each other. I don’t regret walking away.”
I drop my plastic fork, squeezing my eyes closed, and wishing he’d just shut the hell up.
His voice is softer. It’s an odd contrast to the noise around us. “I don’t, because things would’ve gotten worse. If, by some miracle, I would’ve gone to see a therapist while I was with you, I wouldn’t have told you. I was skeptical as hell, Britt. Yeah, I believe in it and I know it works and helps, but I never applied that to me and my issues. I was embarrassed that it took me so long to do it. That it took me pushing you away, so I could use you as a motivator to do it. But if I hadn’t done that, I would’ve pushed you away, just like I did with my dad and just like I did with Faith. If I didn’t walk away when I did, I could’ve left us in an irreparable state. It still hurt and sucks, but it could’ve been worse.”
“Where are you going with this, Trace?” I ask.
He huffs. “Fuck if I know. All I know is I walked away for whatever reason, I love you, I’m way better now than I was then, and I’m trying to show you that you can trust me. I feel like I’m pushing you too hard, but at the same time, I feel like if I don’t, you’ll think I’m not doing all I can when I am. I am, Britt. Are you?” Those damn hazel eyes search my watery ones.
No.
That’s the answer that immediately pops into my head. But I can’t find the courage to answer him, which is probably an answer in and of itself. Trace sighs, stands, and walks away from me again. I set the plate on the table to my right and make a beeline for the door. The house is cool compared to the heat outside. It’s almost too cold because my bathing suit is still damp. I find the shorts and shirt I wore over it along with my cell phone right where I left them on a spare chair in the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
I whirl around at the sound of Melissa’s voice.
“I don’t know. Is there a room I can hide in?”
“Hide? What’s wrong, Brittany?”
“I just feel on edge and I need a few minutes away from everything.” My throat feels tight and my breathing has quickened. I feel a little dizzy and my mouth is suddenly dry.
Melissa leads me to Ben’s room because apparently, “no one would think to look here” for me. Is that what I’m doing? Hiding? From who? I feel like I need to hide from myself, but that’s not possible. I sit on the floor with my back against the side of his bed and the farthest from the door. Sitting on his bed would make this even weirder. I fumble with the screen on my phone, watching teardrops fall, as I try to get to where I need to call my dad. This feels like a situation for only him.
“Hey, Brittany.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
“Trace doesn’t think I’m doing everything I can to trust him and he’s right. Then he had to go and ask me to actually move in with him. I want to, but I don’t want to, and I feel like shit and I’m starting to freak the hell out. Help me.”
Vomit rises in my throat, but I push it down because I don’t want to get up, much less throw up.
“Deep breaths, Brittany,” he tells me, counting as he tells me when to inhale, hold, and exhale. Once I’ve calmed down, he says, “I’m going to ask you some questions, okay? Answer with the first one that comes to mind.”
“Okay.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to be with him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like living with him so far?”
“Yes.”
“Does he treat you right?”
“Yes.” I laugh a little because I’m not sure if that one is for me or for Dad.
“Do you believe he’ll prove you can trust him?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
