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My steps falter as I reach for my wrist.
“I had to explain that we’re not all alike. I had to give him the whole story. Well, most of it. There were some things I kept to myself. Things are better between us now. He even asks about you.”
“Why?” That makes no sense. “Didn’t you tell him what happened?”
“Yeah, of course. He asks because he wants to know if I reached out to you yet.”
I don’t want to think about that, so I ask, “What did you keep to yourself?” I would like to say that there shouldn’t be anything he couldn’t tell his father, but considering Trace wouldn’t talk to me, who knows.
That causes Trace to hesitate. Maybe he hasn’t changed after all.
“If you aren’t going to talk, then leave. There’s no point in you being here otherwise.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and drops his head. Damn it, Brittany, do not worry about him! I grab my soda and keep pacing to prevent myself from going to him. My eyes stay on him, though. He takes a deep breath and looks up at me.
“You know that I wanted to figure out myself what was wrong with me. I didn’t want help. After I was diagnosed, I still struggled with even seeing my psychiatrist.” Another deep breath. “It was my senior year, Christmas break, and I didn’t go home. I was bad off. The worst I’ve ever been. The night my dad found my mom, he tried calling me. Repeatedly.” A long, slow breath. “While my dad was finding my mom, Will—Dr. Gunner—was finding me.”
Something doesn’t sound right. What is he talking about? “What do you mean?”
“I mean that my mom committed suicide while I was attempting it.”
My can of soda falls out of my hand. What? My heart hammers in my chest, thinking of my world had Trace never been in it. Had he succeeded. Tears prick my eyes. All I can do is stare. He curses under his breath, grabbing napkins the delivery driver gave him to clean up my mess. I grab his shirt at the shoulder and pull him up. “What?” I breathe a barely audible whisper.
He sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. “You heard me,” he says quietly. “It was my first attempt. Will saved me. You can imagine how much worse I felt when I called my father and learned what happened. That’s why I never told him. I didn’t want to tell him to start with, but that sealed it for me. He was a wreck after my mom died. He—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, clutching his shirt tighter since I’m still holding on. “What do you mean first?” God, it kills me to think that had he succeeded I would’ve never met him. I would’ve never fallen in love with him. I would’ve never had my heart broken by him. Even that seems like a blessing somehow.
Trace swallows hard. “I tried again a few weeks later. I was at my lowest point before my mom died, Britt. It got impossibly lower afterward.”
My body feels faint. I release my hold and let my hand slide down to his heart. His heartbeat is strong and steady. It pulses with life. I want to hug him so badly, but I don’t.
“Before we broke up, I started having thoughts again.”
I take a stumbling step away from him. What? He can’t be serious. “That’s why you broke up with me?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I slap his arm. “You jackass! Get out!”
“Britt,” he tries.
“No! Don’t even try to explain this to me. I don’t need to hear anything else. There’s one huge difference in what happened with us. I ran to you, Trace. You ran away from me!” I shout. “You didn’t trust me to handle it. You—”
“I’m sorry!” he yells over me. “I’m fucking sorry, Brittany, but I wasn’t wrong.” My eyes widen and I open my mouth to go off on him again. “I wasn’t,” he says firmly. “You honestly tell me how we were supposed to get better when I was worried about you and you were worried about me? When we held back because we thought we might make each other worse?”
“I didn’t hold back!” I yell. “You did! Don’t blame that shit on me.”
“You worried. You worried until it made you sick to think about how I was doing. That worry fed your anxiety and depression, just like it did mine. We needed a break from each other to get better.”
“Open your fucking eyes, Trace! I’m not better! Your plan only worked for you. I’m glad you’re better and all, but there’s no reason for you to be here.” Tears threaten to spill over. “I don’t want you back.” My voice cracks and lowers against my will. “You shouldn’t want me back either. If it happened once, it could happen again. Why would it be any different the second time around?”
He closes the distance between us and cups my face. My eyes flutter closed on their own accord. “Because I know better. I know how to handle it this time. I’ve been seeing a therapist.” That causes my eyes to fly open. “Will convinced me to go about three months after we broke up. Been seeing her ever since, once a week like clockwork.”
Trace dips his head to rest his forehead against mine. “All this time, I’ve been working to be better. For me and for you. To be the kind of man you deserved. The kind of man you could be with and it work. I always planned to come after you. Please. Give me a chance.”
I swallow hard. “Why couldn’t you have done all of that with me?”
“It seemed like the best option. It kills me to think that I left you when you needed me most, that I haven’t been here for you all this time. I’ll do absolutely anything you want me to to prove myself to you. I just need the chance.”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”
“You still love me; I can tell.” His eyes keep scanning my face. He’s desperate for me to take him back.
