Page 32 of Tell Me Again

God. She knows. She knows.

“Brenna, I-I don’t . . .”

She tugs me toward her, not for a kiss, but for a hug, and her arms wrap around me as I fall into her, my head coming to rest on her shoulder. “Please don’t—please don’t deny it, Josh. Please don’t lie to me,” she pleads. Then she kisses my temple and rubs my back gently, and my whole body seems to shudder with some huge release of—of I’m not even sure what.

I inhale deeply and try not to sob as she kisses me again. And god, I want to break down, to cry, to apologize. There’s this overwhelming urge to fight the truth and push all my feelings away again, to deny, deny, deny. Just like... just like I always have. But I feel her shake her head.

“It’s okay. You can tell me the truth.” She pauses, holds me a little tighter, and then says, “You’re safe here. I promise that. Always.”

Suddenly, I’m shaking and crying, and I can’t stop it anymore. I’m mumbling something over and over, and I think it’s “I’m sorry,” because, god, I am so sorry, and I’m so scared, and I don’t know what to do. And my wonderful, kind, amazing Brenna, she just keeps holding me and keeps telling me it’s okay. She kisses my hair and rubs my back. And she doesn’t get mad or yell or leave or tell me to leave.

“I don’t deserve you,” I rasp after a few more minutes, when I can finally breathe again. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh, no, it’s not...” She trails off and lets out a sharp breath. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet, and her words are tentative. “I just need to know. Um, what—what happened ten years ago?”

Her words have an instantaneous effect, bringing a rush of memories, and along with it come ripples of pain and fear as I hear my dad’s angry voice.

“Dammit. What the fuck, Josh!”

And then the reminder, the threat.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Or I’d have to beat that shit right outta you.”

God, it’s terrifying all over again. And I’m shaking. I’m terrified and shaking, and I feel cold and small in some weird way, like I want to just disappear to somewhere.

But Brenna—wonderful, amazing Brenna—she whispers gentle words again, another “Shh, it’s okay,” and her kindness manages to drown out all of the fear from those memories I really don’t want to relive.

Somehow, we end up lying together on the bed, facing each other. She’s got one hand on my cheek, the other on my chest, and she presses a soft kiss to my forehead. And somehow, I finally find the courage to start talking. I start at the beginning, tell her everything. I tell her all the words I’ve never, ever said out loud—words I never thought I’d be able to say out loud.

She’s predictably wonderful. I don’t think she’s ever been anything other than absolutely, perfectly wonderful. And when I get to the part about my dad catching me and Coop kissing, she scoots a little closer so she can wrap one arm around my back. She’s so comforting and so supportive that I just sort of let my tears fall again.

I manage to finish, somehow finding the words to tell her what I felt when I saw Coop again after all this time. And I want to say more still because I have this almost desperate need to make sure she knows exactly how much she means to me and that I didn’t ever mean to hurt her. But I can’t seem to say anything else.

And really, I’m thinking she probably already knows anyway. Somehow.

There’s a silence for a few moments before she shifts ever so slightly and then lets out a long, shuddering breath. I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut tighter. And I say the same words I’ve said so, so often today.

“I’m so sorry, babe.”

This time, she doesn’t answer, and when I open my eyes again, she’s got her eyes closed, and there’s a tear slipping quietly down her cheek. I reach up and brush it away with the pad of my thumb, and when my hand cups her cheek, a soft sob escapes her.

The sound breaks my heart. It’s painful and raw, and I’m not quite sure what I should do now. So I just lean in to rest my forehead against hers. And I apologize. Again.

“God, Bren, I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

But she cuts me off with a quick shake of her head. “I know. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. But it still...it still hurts. A lot.” She’s trembling now, and her hands both press into my chest, almost as though she wants to push me away, but not.

“I understand if you’re mad. You have every right to be. I lied to you and—”

She shakes her head again. “I’m not mad. I’m . . . sad and hurt and . . .”

There’s something of a light laugh, and I open my eyes again to look at her. She’s watching me, her beautiful brown eyes so kind. Still. Even after all of this.

She takes a deep breath in and then lets it out slowly. “I’m sad, because you’re my best friend and it hurts that you lied. But I’m also so relieved and so happy that you were able to tell me and that you trusted me with something that’s obviously so deeply painful and difficult for you. And I-I need you to know that I still love you, and that I’m here for you and I support you, and that I... understand...”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, and I can tell there’s more she wants to say. But she seems overcome with emotion, and she blinks back more tears and just buries her head against my chest again.

I don’t really know why she’s not pushing me away or yelling at me, why she doesn’t hate me, why she hasn’t thrown me out. Probably because she’s just too nice for all that. But I deserve it. I deserve that and more, not everything she’s given me—not all this kindness.

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