Page 57 of Here In Your Arms

“I hate to say it’s middle-child syndrome, but that’s basically it, you know? My parents always put emphasis on my older sister’s or my younger brother’s accomplishments. I was just there, existing. Nobody needed anything from me and when I asked, it was glossed over.”

Taking a sip of my beer, I nod. “I get that. I remember you telling me about being a middle child. I guess I never realized how badly you felt about it growing up. How badly you clearly still feel about it.”

“I don’t feel bad about it still. I’ve come to terms with it as an adult, but there are things I never bothered to learn. Things like how to really comfort someone when it’s a big thing, what real mental illness looks like, how to dismiss people’s opinions of me. Nobody wanted me to comfort them, so I never tried.” He sighs.

His body language is defeated. Spine curled, he’s slouched down on the sofa with his head tipped back. I reach out and grab his hand. I might be mad, but I’m not petty. Wes clearly needs someone, and I’m right here for him. Always.

His fingers grip mine tightly. “I’m afraid I fucked up too much. What if she doesn’t want this anymore? I don’t want to ruin it for you. Obviously, I don’t want to let her go, but if she decides she doesn’t want me anymore, then I want you to at least be able to have her.”

“Hey.” I get his attention softly. “Just talk to her. Depression isn’t some untouchable taboo thing. It’s like having a cold, but you feel like shit mentally instead of physically. I think Rory has a pretty bad mental cold.”

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“She will, especially if you approach her with genuine interest and an apology. One afternoon of bad won’t eradicate the relationship, have more faith in her than that.”

Wes nods, and I use our clasped hands to pull him closer to me and wrap my arms around him. Showing him without words how to be there for our girl.

Chapter 21

Wes

My epic fuck up runs in my mind for the next few days. Rory is texting us again, apologizing for what she calls a “bad brain day”, but she hasn’t mentioned me basically running out on her. She would be well within her rights to chew me out, but she hasn’t. I hope that’s not a bad thing. I’ve planned out a date for the two of us to make time to apologize to her. I want to sit down with her in a calm setting and explain to her what was going on in my head, then ask her to tell me about the depression.

I hope that she’ll open up to me, but I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. My goal is just to show her I’m sorry and I will try to do better. I will do better; it’s not really an option to fail her. It’s been quick, but I can feel the three of us really starting to bond and I believe this will work if we all get out of our own ways. My bags are about packed and I check them over to make sure I have all the necessary supplies. Everything looks good, so I load it into the back of my truck and head out to Rory’s. She offered to meet there, but I wanted to drive her and she agreed to it.

After parking at her complex, I take a moment to breathe. She deserves the best and I know I can give it to her. I just need to shut up and listen. Confidence boosted, I hop down from my truck and practically run up the stairs. I knock on her door, getting my breathing under control, and when she opens it, the sight of her makes my heartbeat increase.

She’s so goddamn beautiful.

Her hair is a little different than typical. Normally she sports a single braid down her back, but today it looks like she made two smaller braids on top of her head before turning into a ponytail somehow. Women and their hair magic will never cease to amaze me. It’s gotta be something in their DNA that makes them naturally good at it.

“Hey,” I manage to say once I realize we’ve been staring in silence.

“Hey there.”

“You ready to go, or do you need another minute? I don’t want to rush you.”

She checks her pockets and her purse before looking back at me with a smile. “I’m ready when you are.”

I step aside so she can lock her apartment door and we get settled in the truck. It’s not a fancy vehicle by any means, but I do what I can to keep it clean and it functions just fine. The truck is probably close to twenty years old, but it’s comfortable and familiar. When I glance over, Rory is looking around at the interior of the cab with a smile still on her face.

“It’s not very fancy, but it gets me where I need to go.”

“It’s perfect, actually.”

“How do you figure that?”

She takes a breath and looks over at me, even though my eyes have to stay on the road. “It’s got character. That’s way more important than a sterile new car. I can tell you’ve had this truck for a while and you care for it. You keep it as nice as you can.”

I can feel a blush spreading to my cheeks, proud that she likes my truck and a little embarrassed at being seen so easily. I’m not used to someone seeing through me like she always does.

“Thanks.”

We chat about stupid shit as I drive to one of the nicer parks in town. There are a couple close to her apartment, but those are usually more for walking a specific trail or hiking, or biking and stuff. So, I picked one about fifteen minutes away and it gives us a chance to talk about things that don’t matter in the long run. Who really is the Sexiest Man Alive? Why does everyone say that “the last cast” of SNL is funniest?

Once we arrive, I lead us into the grassy area where people sit or throw balls for their dogs, and there’s a perfect spot near a tree we can settle into. We can be partly in the sun while still being shaded so my ginger skin is happy. When the blanket is spread and I’ve presented the food with the most flourish I can muster, we sit and eat. I’m feeling a little antsy. I want to address the other day with her, but I don’t want to ruin the moment or the food.

“What’s going on?” she asks, munching on a pretzel.

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