I try to breathe, but I can’t. Understanding floods me. It’s all making sense that his fear of not being worthy of love comes from his mom—the woman who left him.
“It hurts a whole lot less to be hated when you’re not being yourself than it does not to be loved for who you are,” he continues. “As much as I tell people I enjoy the hate, I want to be loved more than anything, but I’m not ready to risk rejection yet.”
I, too, have been myself and wasn’t enough. In fact, I’ve felt that way most of my adult life. This man, who seems like an impenetrable brick wall of intimidation, is actually extremely soft and scared, with more feelings than he wants to admit.
“I only trust a few people to be myself with. I’m not ready to trust everyone in the world with who I am. That is what scares me, Stevie.”
I place my hand over his with my brows pinched to keep from getting emotional. “You trust me?”
Zanders’ hazel eyes are soft as they read mine. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
“Why?”
“Because at this point, the risk of losing whatever this might be by not being myself with you is a lot scarier than showing you who I am. I like you, Vee, and I’m being completely honest and vulnerable here. I just want the chance for you to want me. The real me.”
The food is cold on my plate, but I don’t care. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m full from Zanders’ words that give me more hope than I could’ve imagined. He trusts me enough to be honest and vulnerable with who he is. Why can’t I trust that he’s not lying about how he feels about me?
Standing from my chair, I go right over to his, taking a seat across his lap. Slinging my arms around his shoulders, I bury my head in his neck.
“You cry at Disney movies?” I tease, my breath ghosting his skin.
He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me to him. “Fucking sob.”
“You don’t seem like a crier.”
“I cry at a lot of things. I just don’t let people see it. I cried before you got here, actually.”
I lift my head from his shoulder. “Why?”
He gives me a small half-smile. “My mom called me.”
“What?”
“I hung up on her the second I realized who it was, but then it caused a full-blown panic attack that I couldn’t get out of. My whole body was locked up, and I started crying like a fucking baby on the bathroom floor. I got in the shower to try to wash it all away, and that’s why I didn’t hear you knocking.”
“Jesus, Zee.” I graze a soothing palm over his cheek, seeing way more of this man than I ever expected. “Are you okay?”
He cautiously nods. “I’ll be all right.”
Silence lingers between us. I didn’t know anything about Zanders’ mental health or the fact that he was passionate about helping others navigate their own journeys until the gala just over a week ago.
Falling back to his shoulder, I quietly ask, “What made you start Active Minds?”
His hand snakes around, resting on my hipbone and his head leaning on mine. “Because I didn’t want other kids to suffer the way I did and still do sometimes. Not having control over the way your mind affects you is one of the worst feelings in the world. You feel trapped and helpless. I wish I would’ve gotten into therapy the second my mom left, but mental health wasn’t really talked about with men, and I wanted to break that stigma and give kids access to the help they need. The help I needed but didn’t know how to ask for.”
My heart aches with understanding, seeing everything he is. I run my hand across his chest before curving it around his neck. “How could you think people might not like you when this is the heart you have?”
“Do you like me?” He lifts his head, urging mine from his shoulder as well. There’s no hesitation in his question. His tone is pleading, needing to know the answer.
“I don’t want to.”
“But do you?” Hope. So much hope as he looks at me.
I don’t know how to answer that without laying all my cards on the table about just how much I like him. He’s good, too good. It’s just taken me months to see it. It’s taken months for him to peel back every layer and show me who he is. But this, the real him, I like him way too much.
“I hate you, remember?”
We share a knowing smile.
“Stevie girl, do you like me?” He pushes a corkscrew curl away from my face so he can see me.
My eyes dart between his and his lips. Unable to keep myself from him, I lean forward, closing the gap between us, pressing my mouth to his. He gives into me for a moment before he turns away, breaking the connection and shaking his head.