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He nods as if finally understanding.
I wait for him to elaborate on the subject, but he remains silent.
“Well?” I ask. “Any of that sound familiar?”
He swallows the lump in his throat as if bracing himself for the worst thing possible. “Maybe . . . I do . . . somehow—I mean, I don’t know, but I think I . . . love you.” He stares at the ground, unable to make eye contact.
Empathy fills me at his botched-up declaration of love.
“And that’s a bad thing?” I whisper.
“No, I think it’s a . . . good thing.” He rolls his lips. “It’s just brought up a lot of baggage for me.”
“What kind of baggage?”
He hesitates before answering. “I struggle with intimacy.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
But he does know.
“What does Aaron say the reason is?”
He stares at me as if processing the question. “That I won’t rely on anyone as a form of protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“If you leave me.”
Oh . . .
My heart . . .
“Hen,” I whisper softly.
“But I don’t think that’s true. I mean . . . big deal. My mother died. A million people’s mothers die every day, and they don’t walk around fucked up like this.”
“Henley, on our first date you told me that your mother dying was a catastrophic event in your life.” I squeeze his hand in mine. “Don’t play it down. Grief affects everyone differently. You were at a very vulnerable age when she died.”
His eyes fill with tears as he stares at a spot on the carpet, unable to bring himself to look at me.
He is fucked up.
“So . . .” I frown as I try to work out where we go from here. “What do you want to happen now?”
“I want to be with you,” he replies without hesitation. “In a . . .” He swallows again.
I cut him off. “Relationship?”
He nods. “I want to try.”
Silence . . .
Still not a commitment . . . but maybe a promise.
I know I shouldn’t, but I see him, the beautiful man I fell for, lost as he tries to navigate the world. Henley is a good man, deep down. I’ve always known that. He doesn’t want to live like this. He’s had no other option.
