Page 105 of Beautiful Collide

“You can,” I say without hesitation. “I know you can.”

She looks away again, and I watch as her shoulders rise and fall with another shaky breath. “Why are you so sure?”

Because you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.

Because I’ve watched you handle things no one else could.

Because even when you’re scared, you don’t stop moving forward.

But I don’t say any of that.

Instead, I shrug lightly, trying to keep my tone easy. “Because I’m always right.”

That earns me a faint laugh—a real one this time. The weight in the air lifts just a little.

“You’re insufferable,” she mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.

I grin. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t.”

Her lips press together, but I see the way her shoulders relax, even just slightly. She glances back at the door, her expression tightening again, but this time, something is different about it—like she’s steeling herself, bracing for the fight.

“Ready when you are,” I say softly.

She doesn’t answer right away, but she nods, just barely. And as she moves closer to that door, I stay beside her, ready to catch her if she falls.

I watch as she takes a tiny, almost imperceptible step forward. Then she steps back, groaning at herself.

I offer her my hand. “Focus on me. You don’t have to go in there.”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll go in there with you.”

She hesitates, and my eyes search hers.

All while never breaking our gaze, she takes my offered hand. Her soft fingers brush against mine.

“One step at a time,” I remind her, guiding her toward the door as I open it.

I can feel her shaking, the tension radiating off her. Each step is a battle, but like the tough girl Molly is, she does it.

Together, inside the utility room, I switch the light on, making sure to leave the door wide open.

“I swear, it wasn’t always this bad.” Her voice is quiet, almost apologetic.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Molly,” I reply, glancing at her.

“But I feel like I owe you something.” Her gaze drops to the floor, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

She exhales sharply, brushing her hair back with a trembling hand. “I feel like I’m losing control. And I hate it. Things that used to scare me and didn’t for a while are back. Irrational fears.”

“Such as?”

“Closed spaces.”

“That I figured.”

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