Page 68 of It's Always Us

“When you didn’t call and then changed your number, I couldn’t understand. I was angry and hurt, and for a long time, I tried to figure out what happened. But I couldn’t. I didn’t understand how I could’ve been so wrong.”

“Mark—”

She starts, but I cut her off, needing to get this out while I can. “I did stupid things trying to get you out of my head. I convinced myself that if I kept pushing forward, trying to move on, I’d forget you. I slept around in college and drank myself silly, but after a while . . . It didn’t work, so I gave everything I had to football. Once I made the draft, a whole newworld opened up to me. Women started throwing themselves at me everywhere I turned.”

Her hand releases my shirt, but she leaves it there, limp on my stomach.

“So, I went out, trying to find someone to make me forget. I kept trying and trying, wanting someone, anyone, to erase how you felt in my arms, how you smelled, laughed . . . How safe I felt to be me when I was with you.”

She must feel my heart pounding and rests her hand over it.

“Lex, what that guy said tonight, it wasn’t like that. I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done, and I did some stupid shit, hurt a lot of feelings, but it wasn’t what it looked like. I promise.”

“Mark, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I don’t deserve it.”

I pull away, needing to see her. The calm gray dusk falls around us, but I can make out her grief and . . . something else unfamiliar.

“I want you to know. To understand. I hate that my actions have some dick saying things like that about you.” I hold her face, forcing her to look at me. “I went out with a lot of women. A lot of different women, but that’s it. We went out. I wasn’t taking them home. I need you to know that. I couldn’t. Every time I even thought about it, I knew I’d only be thinking about you.”

Warm dampness seeps under my thumb, and I brush her tears away. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t know—”

“Mark, stop.” She drops her head. “Please. Stop.”

My dinner stirs in my stomach, and a burn crawls through my chest as it tightens. “Lex, I’m sorry—”

She pushes away from me. “Mark, stop! I don’t care what that guy said.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t speak. I don’t know what is happening, and I have to swallow hard to keep my dinner down, the cold spike of panic thrusting it upward.

Her head hangs as she swipes tears away. “Don’t. Stop apologizing. I can’t—”

“Lex, I know what that guy said tonight hurt you.” I breathe, trying to steady myself.

She sniffs, her head hanging low. “It killed something inside me every time I saw or thought about you with someone else, but I deserved it.” She wipes her nose on her wrist. “It’s my fault. I . . . I wanted to go with you, and I wanted you to stay, but you couldn’t. You had to go, and I had to . . . I wanted everything for you. I couldn’t let anything hold you back. I wanted you to be happy and achieve everything I knew you could.”

Her sad, shiny eyes meet mine in the dark. “I made a choice, and I couldn’t take it back. I thought you were happy. You looked so happy. I forced myself to be fine. I pretended to be someone else so it wouldn’t hurt so bad. I didn’t want to be me . . . with anyone else.”

A fist slams into my throat, and I’m done with the distance between us. I pull her to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders to hold her close. “I’m so angry with myself that I didn’t come back.” My lips brush against her temple.

“I would’ve only held you back. You would’ve never left again.”

“I wouldn’t have,” I whisper, unable to breathe through the ache ricocheting through my chest.

“I know.” Her lip quivers. “That’s why you had to go, and I had to be sure you wouldn’t come back. I wouldn’t let—”

I press my lips to her salty cheek, wanting her mouth. I know if I start, I won’t stop, so damn scared she’s going to disappear again.

We stay like that, linked together for a long time, eventually lying together, staring at the sky. Lex pulls the blanket up and rests her head on my chest.

Everything seems precarious, as if I’m walking a tightrope. One wrong move, and when I turn, she’ll have fallen away. Tonight, though, feels like a monumental moment in finding each other again and gaining back some of what we lost. The trust and connection we once had. The devotion. I want it all.

I speak softly into the dark night, taking a risk and knowing the answer determines the stability of our new foundation. “Do you trust me?”

Her body stiffens slightly, and I know my question caught her off guard. “Can I?” Her question is simple yet profound.

“Yes, with everything. I may screw up a lot of things, but I won’t mess that up. I promise.”

She snuggles into my chest, and her voice is so soft I almost don’t hear her. “I know.”

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