Page 89 of Her Pretty Words

He doesn’t seem to hear, because he crouches before me, not bothering to look on the ground for glass before kneeling. He lifts my left foot, inspects it thoroughly, then the right. When he stands, there are small shards of glass in his knee. “Grayson!” I point to the blood that’s beginning to well. He looks around the room for a threat, his eyes alert.

“Lookdown.”

Once he sees the scarlet running down his shins, he shrugs. “Oh,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

I move carefully around the glass and then step into his sneakers by the front door. They are about seven sizes too big for my feet, but they serve their purpose as I clean the shards with a dustpan and broom.

I lead him to the couch, he willingly obliges. I kneel in front of him with a paper plate, carefully pulling out the small pieces. I press a paper towel to the blood. His eyes are unseeing, as though he’s someplace else entirely. Like he’s stumbled into a thought he can’t escape.

My stomach sinks. “Grayson?”

Nothing.

“You’re scaring me,” I whisper.

Then his gaze slowly drags down to me. “What’s wrong? Why are you scared?” His eyes seem to inspect my body, as though he’s searching for injuries.

“I’m fine. What are you thinking?” I ask. His eyes pour into mine, yet they don’t truly see me. “Are you drunk?” The sun has hardly risen.

He flinches and shakes his head no. He blinks a few times at me, his eyebrows pulling together at the sight of me on the floor, like he’s just noticed. He grabs me beneath my arms and pulls me onto the couch.

“Please talk to me,” I say, curling into myself on the other end of the sofa.

He sighs and clenches his jaw. “I think I’m having an anxiety attack.”

I tilt my head and take him in. He’s very still. Not even shaking. I’ve had few anxiety attacks in my life, the most recent was when my grandparents passed away. They tend to make me feel as though I’m a second from death, like my lungs will stop accepting oxygen or my heart will explode.

“I keep having these thoughts…” he says. “God, it’s so morbid, but I picture you dying, Mace. Over and over. It feels as though it’s truly happening. I’m grieving you, yet you’re sitting right beside me.” His voice stumbles and breaks over the words.“I had nightmares all night, so I went for a run to clear my head but this feeling in my stomach keeps gnawing at me.” He takes a deep breath. “It feels like Ifinallyhave you after years of pining for you from the window, yet I’ll never be able to grasp onto you. Like one moment you’ll be in my arms, and the next you’ll slip away. Like if I allow myself to fully surrender to happiness, everything will be taken from me once again. Losing you is my biggest fear, and my mind likes to constantly remind me.”

I digest every word and imagine a world where every good thing is tainted by the fear of losing it. “That sounds awful.”

He lets out a huff of air. “That night at the inn,” he says. “When we stopped pretending for the first time, that’s when it began. When I finally allowed myself to indulge in everything I feel for you, it felt like the world around me was speeding up and I needed to grab every second spent with you. I told myself I needed to memorize every expression flickering across yourface. The sound of your laugh and the words you spoke. I needed to remember because—” he slowly gathers himself to say, “If you left this world before me, I would want to have every moment memorized, down the fallen eyelash on your cheek. I think of a world absent of you and try to survive the idea by capturing enough memories to supply me the rest of my days.”

The only thing I know is it makes perfect sense for him to feel this way after what he went through, but I have no idea how to help him. I move closer, the couch cushions dip beneath my weight. I squeeze his hand three times.I love you.

“I don’t want to bethisfor you.” He gestures to himself. “I want to be a man you feel safe with. A man who can give you everything you deserve.”

“You’re everything I want and need, Daniel Grayson.”

“Maybe you’d be better off withou?—”

“No.” I interrupt. “I’m betterwithyou.”

“Mace—”

“Quit trying to end this because you think you’re undeserving of someone who can love you when times are hard or something. Because I’m staying, Grayson. You’re not getting rid of me, so stop.”

“Okay,” he says in a quiet voice. “Just so you know, if times ever get tough for you, I’ll be everything you need too.”

“I know.”

Chapter 35

Grayson

Iclench the steering wheel and watch a brunette head disappear behind the automatic doors at the airport. Something primal in me tells me I need to chase after her. To put her back in my car and not let her go. I inhale a deep breath like every website about post-traumatic stress disorder says to do. Macy “diagnosed” me with it. Apparently, she’s done plenty of book research to know about the disorder, however, she’s not a professional, so I take what she says with a grain of salt and read the articles she sends me because I love her. I check my phone at each traffic light on the drive home. I get several texts from her, per my request.

I’m through security.

---