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I spun around. “Eric?”
“I thought you knew it was me.”
I pressed my hand to my chest, catching my breath. “How would I know that?”
“I thought you saw me come in.” He gestured at the mirror. “Sorry I scared you.”
“Why are you here?”
Eric flinched at my question and bumped the door shut behind him. “I can go if you want me to, but I hoped we could talk.”
“Right here, right now? When I’m about to—”
“Yes. Now.” The words came out harsh, and Eric shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not yelling. Just, please, can we talk?”
I glanced at the door, and the green clock above it. I still had an hour before I had to go on. My throat had gone tight, and I swallowed dryly.
“You can’t say anything terrible. I can’t go on crying.”
“I won’t,” said Eric. “But, can we sit?”
I sat down hard, my knees turned to rubber. Eric dragged a chair over and sat next to me.
“You were right about everything,” he said. “About me not being honest. About me being scared. What I said about us, how we can’t be together, I need you to know those were my hang-ups. You didn’t do anything — you did nothing wrong.”
I wanted to scream at him,I know I didn’t, as if I needed him telling me that. But he had a look in his eyes I’d never seen there before, raw and unguarded, bright with fresh hope. I stared at him, waiting to see what came next.
“If you’d let me, I’d like to explain why I ran. If you think there’s a chance for us, if it isn’t too late.”
My heart lurched in my chest, a quick, painful spasm. More than anything, I wanted to hear him out. I wanted to hear him say the words that would make it make sense, why he had to walk out on me. Why he had to hurt me. But what words could do that? What could make us okay?
If I told him no, I’d always wonder.
If I told him yes, he could hurt me again. If his story felt wrong, if it didn’t make sense, if his reasons didn’t cover the depth of my hurt—
“Tell me,” I croaked.
Eric looked at his feet, then up at the ceiling. Then he met my eyes, and his gaze was steady. “I’ve been hiding all my life,” he said. “And not just from you. From Sam, from my friends, everyone in my life. I couldn’t let anyone see me or get too close. I couldn’t let myself love because— because…”
“Because what?” I couldn’t breathe.
“Because then they might vanish and leave me with nothing.” He closed his eyes and sucked in a rough breath. “Because when I was four, my parents went out. I was grabbing Dad’s leg, and he said to quit it. Mom said we’d get pizza if I was good for the sitter. And those were their last words to me. They never came back. They got in an accident—”
“Oh, Eric…”
“Let me finish.” He slammed his fists on his knees, then sagged where he sat. “Sorry. I’m not yelling. Just… let me get through this.”
I nodded. “I’m listening.”
He sat for a minute, just breathing, eyes shut. He clenched and unclenched his fists in his lap. “They never came back,” he said at last. “No one would tell me the truth, where they went. I waited for them, I don’t know how long, and the next time I saw them was in their caskets. Then this lady, this stranger, took me away. She left me in a new house, with a new family. They said I should call them Mom and Dad, and I did, and after a while, I started to love them. But that stranger, the social worker, came back again. I had eleven ‘new families.’ Eleven new lives. Every time, every time I’d let down my guard, every damn time I’d let myself care — every time without fail, I’d lose them again. Everyone I cared about. Over and over. I couldn’t let myself fall for you, knowing I’d lose you.”
I stared at Eric, and I saw the sad boy he’d been — four years old, five, six, seven, eight; family after family he’d never see again. He must have lost parents, brothers and sisters, friends at each new school, too many to count.
“You never even told Sam this?”
“Not till last night.” Eric sat up straighter. “I couldn’t see what I was doing, how I was hurting myself. How I hurt you and Sam, and everyone I got close to. I honestly thought I was doing you a favor.”
I laughed without meaning to. “A favor? By dumping me?”
