Page 99 of Perfect Praise

Locke pivots with his back to me and heads for the closet instead.

So, I follow.

“Look at me.”

He doesn’t—just pulls a crumpled black T-shirt off the floor and puts it on.

“Look at me!” I demand, gripping his elbow and fighting his strength to get him to turn.

He blinks back the tears I only now notice when his eyes catch mine.

“Hey,” I say, my tone laced with concern.

He tries to shrug me off. “Let me get dressed.”

“Let me come with you,” I plead.

“Why?” he scoffs, turning to fully face me. His face is now rigid with no sign that he was ever about to cry. “So you can see what a shitshowthis is? How despite everything I do for her she turns back to drugs? You want to watch me break?”

“No,” I say. “I want to come because I want to be there for you.”

With his shoulders hanging, Locke slumps down to the ground against his drawers before he buries his head in his hands.

His breathing becomes erratic after a few seconds. “I’m scared,” he forces out. “That you will think differently of me. That you’ll see me in her. I’m scared you won’t want this anymore. Because nothing good comes from letting people in, letting them see the fucking mess of my life behind the curtain. I won’t be this idea to you anymore. The shininess wears off, and suddenly, I’m real. Real becomes too much. And I’m fucking terrified that I’m going to turn into her when you leave me. Maybe I’m already her. Taking from you like a selfish asshole, sustaining myself, living for the next hit you give me. You’re all I think about.”

I sink down into his lap, and with my legs straddling his thighs, I lift his face to mine. “I’m not here for you to call me a good girl, Locke, or live in your house, or use you for anything. I know who you are, and I’m here because I care about you. Not Locke the golfer. Not Locke the sexy, brooding mystery. I likeyou. Because you’re more than you give yourself credit for. You’re not selfish. You love deeply. Deeper than most people are maybe even capable of. Nothing I see is going to change my mind about you, nothing’s going to make me feel differently about you. I want to come because you need me, even if you won’t admit it to yourself, just as much as I need you.”

I try to hold back my own tears, but I’m not as strong as Locke. Two break free and one slides down each of my cheeks.

His eyes flash pain mixed with clarity before he presses his lips to mine. I taste my own tears, and Locke holds me so tight against his torso that my breaths become shallow.

When he pulls back, I’ve never seen someone look at me the way he is now—an epiphany so intense swirling behind them, and it terrifies me in the best way possible. It’s almost like I know what’s coming,but there’s no possible way for me to prepare myself. Even if I had a century, his next words would still be like a wrecking ball to my heart.

I’m ruined. And Locke Hughes holds all the pieces.

“I love you, Maren.”

My chest constricts. He relaxes like he’s been holding it in for days, weeks. Locke’s irises are more golden than I’ve ever realized, the tiniest lines bursting from his pupils that you’d miss if you were any farther away than an inch. Everything about him is more than I thought was possible.

And at this point, there’s no hesitation when I reply, “I know. I love you too.”

The ride to mymother’s house is silent.

My hand never leaves Maren’s thigh, like if I let go of her for even a nanosecond, she’ll have second thoughts and jump out of the moving car. I tighten my fingers around her hard enough to leave an imprint.

This woman sitting beside me loves me, but I still think it will take time to adjust to that thought. The vulnerability she’s handing to me because she trusts me not to hurt her, abuse her, manipulate her, take advantage of it. And I’ve never wanted to prove to someone more that I’ll guard her like my life depends on it. Because in theory, it does.

It’s the most beautiful cloudless day, and you’d never know there had just been a hurricane if I wasn’t weaving around huge branches lying in the street every other block.

This is the calm before the storm. After the storm. In between the storm.

I’ve never felt more exposed, but I wouldn’t dare to be this exposed with anyone else. Maren is about to enter the darkest part of my life, but how can I love her correctly if I don’t show her all of it? Iwantto show her all of it, no matter how crushing the weight, because I want to be fully seen and still loved. The rarest love of all that deep down everyone wants—but also might be next to impossible to attain.

But if I show her all of this, and she still wants me…

My mom’s house sits on a quiet cul-de-sac in a gated community. You’d never know from the outside, with its Spanish tile roof, peach stucco, and impeccable lawn, what living on the inside is like.

I wonder sometimes how often she’s even here. How many nights she spends elsewhere to escape. Because even with everything I give her, she isn’t happy.

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