“We don’t do sleepovers, Garrett. We have rules.”
My pulse thunders in my ears as she buttons her jeans and steps into her shoes. “We don’t have to have rules. We don’t—we can—” Fuck. I tug at my hair. Here I go again. It’s not that hard to have difficult conversations. I just want her to stay. I just want her. “Jennie—”
“This was a mistake.” She mumbles the words to herself, but I hear them, and they hurt.
“Because of the video? I don’t understand.”
Jennie scoops up her things and flings the door open. I reach out, wrapping my fingers around her elbow.
“Wait, Jennie—”
“Don’t touch me!” Her face flames, eyes piercing as she reels on me, chest heaving with each ragged inhale. Her gaze flickers as a thousand emotions pass through them, and I don’t recognize a single one, except the heartbreak, the deep-seated betrayal. I may see them, but I don’t understand them, not why she wears them with me. “I shouldn’t have let you in. I’m better off alone.”
Fury builds in my chest and bursts through my veins, fists clenching at my sides as the words sink in. She regrets this. Regrets me. Her past hurt rules her life, and I’m tired of sitting by and letting it. “That’s bullshit and you know it, Jennie. Nobody is better off alone.”
I watch it all in slow motion, the way her eyes dim, the fire in them dying, replaced with an emptiness I haven’t seen before, a distance that makes her feel an entire world away as she shuts down on me far worse than she ever has.
“I am,” is her simple reply, right before she lets the door slam shut behind her.
“Fuck.” I snap my pants up off the ground. “Fuck.” I head to the kitchen and fill a glass with water, drain it quickly, then fill it again. I’ve gone from blissful to mindfucked in a matter of two minutes.
Done my fucking ass. She likes to be in control, to act like she calls the shots, but I refuse to let her decide this one on her own. She keeps telling herself I’m someone else, convincing herself she can’t trust me, the same way she shouldn’t have trusted the people who broke her.
But I’m not them.
I don’t want to break her; I want to show her she’s already whole. I want to be her best friend, the person she comes to when she needs help, like she did tonight. I want to be the one she opens herself up to without holding back. I want her to show me it all while I promise to keep those parts safe.
I know she’s wired this way after all these years, conditioned to believe no one could ever want her for everything she brings to the table. She thinks she’s safer in her bubble, keeping out the people who have the power to hurt her, but in the end, she only hurts herself more.
She’s determined to keep parts of herself hidden, hell-bent on keeping me on the outside.
It’s ironic, really, because on the outside is where she hates to be. Right now, she’s the one putting herself there.
So maybe that’s why I’m stunned when there’s a knock on my door at the crack of dawn as I’m standing in my living room, watching the sun rise with a cup of coffee in my hand, my desperate attempt at curing the headache caused by the muddled mess in my brain, the utter absence of sleep as I sat on my couch and typed out fifty text messages, never sending a single one of them.
Because when I open the door, Jennie stands there in a pair of plaid sleep pants and my hoodie, thick hair weaved in her signature messy braid, draped over her shoulder, the smooth skin on her face framed by all the loose tresses that spill from it.
Her cool blue eyes are red rimmed and exhausted, shattered, and her chin quivers as she peers up at me. “I’m sorry, Garrett.”
The words are fractured and hoarse, and when my arms open, she falls into them, burying her face in my shoulder as she trembles in my hold, and I know: My heart hasn’t ever beat so hard for another person.
CHAPTER 25
SAFE LANDING
JENNIE
The door hadn’t even finished slamming behind me and I already knew I’d be back.
There hadn’t been a shred of doubt in my mind as I bypassed the elevator and sprinted down the staircase, as I’d let go of the irrational anger and let the grief take over, tears spilling down my cheeks, blurring my vision for the umpteenth time.
Irrational anger because Garrett’s not the person I’m angry with, nor does he deserve to be on the receiving end of it.
Grief because I’m just giving up the fucking fight here. I’ve lost so much, too much. Missed out on meaningful relationships, avoided intimate connections, tucked so many pieces of myself away for so long I’ve begun to forget where I’ve hidden them.
I’m tired of being a victim of my circumstances. I need to move forward, but I don’t know how. I make strides every day with Garrett, but there are these small steps, the last few at the top of the mountain, the ones I just don’t know how to climb. Each time I try, my steps are too wobbly. I tell myself to close my eyes and do it, but nothing done blindly is ever easy.
All I know is this right here—my face buried in his chest, his arms wound around me, his soothing voice in my ear telling me everything will be okay—feels like exactly where I’m meant to be.
Garrett’s my solid and my steady. He’s the constant in my life, the smile always waiting for me, the friendship that never wanes, the connection that grows stronger each day. He’s the warm arms that hug me, the fingers that drift down my back, the quiet voice that eases my worries at the end of the day and promises to be my safe place to land.
And that’s why I knew I’d be back. That’s why I spent my night weaving through periods of broken sleep, pacing my living room, curled up on my couch, waiting for sunrise so I could come back, ask him to listen.
The bags under his heavy, bleary eyes say he got as much sleep as I did, that I could’ve come back at any time and he would’ve been here, waiting, ready.
He’s always ready; I’m the one that takes too many steps backward instead of forward.
Garrett’s large hands bracket my face, pushing my hair off my cheeks. His blue-green eyes are full of compassion, patience, more than I ever thought I’d find. When the pad of his thumb brushes my bottom lip, I sink into his touch.
“Thank you for coming back.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“You’re allowed to have feelings, Jennie, and it’s okay if that feeling is anger.”
“But it’s not you who I’m mad at.”
He sweeps my braid over my shoulder and kisses my forehead. “Will you come in and tell me who you’re mad at?”
There’s a tightness between my shoulder blades that’s been there since yesterday. It started with Krissy and eased with Garrett, but the moment I spotted Kevin climbing the steps in the theater, it came roaring back. Krissy and Kevin are one and the same, the type of people who thrive on making others feel small and insignificant. I like to live my life loud and proud, but when they’re around, all I find myself doing is curling into myself, hoping to disappear.
Garrett takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, a reminder of the answer he’s waiting for. When I nod, he leads me to the couch and drapes a blanket over me, before promising he’ll be right back. When he returns, it’s with the swankiest mug of hot chocolate I’ve ever seen, topped with whipped cream, crushed candy cane, and blue marshmallows shaped like snowflakes.