Page 27 of Power Forward

He runs a hand down his face and drops down to sit on the closed toilet seat. “I’m so fucking confused.”

“About what?”

“You. Me. This.” He waves a hand between us. “I don’t want to want you again. I can’t risk falling into your hands only to get hurt, Hayden, because I barely survived the last time. I have my kids to think about now.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I admit quietly.

Quite the opposite, actually.

“I know I asked this in Boston, but why now? If you’ve been a mess for me all this time, why now?”

I lean back against the vanity, taking some of my weight off my knees. I wet my lips with my tongue, then rub my fingers against the cool marble top, tracing the shapes and lines. It’s hard for me to open up and be vulnerable about my past struggles. Most of the time, when people hear you have depression, they don’t know how to act around you. Or worse, tell you that you have nothing to be sad about or other people have it worse, or you’ll get over it, or that everyone gets sad sometimes.

Zara’s words from the other day about being more open with him come filtering back through my mind. Jackson was always my safe place before I fucked everything up, and the level of care shining in his eyes right now tells me he can sense my reluctance. He’s always been more emotionallymature. I know he won’t spew the other shit, but I also know I can’t dump all my trauma at his feet.

I can do this. I trust Jackson, and if I want this to happen—forusto happen—I need to tell him.

Give him the option to escape.

No, I can’t think like that.

Baby steps.

“It took me a long time to realize that I had married Zara for the wrong reasons. Years, in fact. It was during one of my therapy sessions that I realized it had always been you, but I screwed up big-time. I needed to make sure that I wasn’t that same guy who broke your heart. I needed to work on myself to make sure I was worthy of you before I tried to reach out. The way I ended things with us wasn’t okay. I was scared and immature. I believed the negative voices in my head telling me you would be better off without me, but that’s no excuse for the way I treated you.”

He stares at me, brows still slightly furrowed, but there’s a new emotion in his eyes. Empathy. His voice is soft when he asks, “And how long has that been? That you’ve been working on yourself before reaching out?”

“Six years,” I manage, dropping my gaze to the floor. I can’t look at him when I tell him this. I can’t bear to see the pitying look on his face when he finally knows the truth.I can do this.“It was after Zara found me trying to end my life.”

The bathroom is silent, apart from the music coming from downstairs and the blood rushing in my ears. When he doesn’t speak, I lift my head, and the expression on his face knocks the breath out of my lungs.

His eyes shine with unshed tears, cheek tinged pink as he swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

“Cas,” he whispers, voice cracking.

I dip my head again. Shame coats me like a shroud, like it always does every time I have to say those words out loud.

I’m aware of Jackson standing up, but I’m not prepared for when he steps in front of me. His fingers grip my chin, and he angles my head up to face him. My eyes lock with his.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers with a shaky voice. “Really fucking glad.”

My face goes hot. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I am.” His tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip, and then he takes a deep inhale. “I need time. I’m not saying no, but I can’t say yes right now either. It’s not just my life anymore, Cas. It’s Ryan and Isabela too. I’ve put them through so much fucking shit with the divorce and moving to Chicago that I can’t risk bringing any more chaos into their lives. Not that you would be chaos, but any new relationship would be a change for them. And I need to figure things out in here—” He taps his head, then his heart. “—and here first.”

Swallowing down the puck-sized lump that’s formed in my throat, I nod as best as I can with his hand still holding my chin. “I understand.”

This has to mean something, right? I wasn’t expecting him to jump in my arms and tell me we’re getting back together. I knew it was going to be a progressive thing. A marathon, not a sprint.

Baby steps.

I’ll give him the time he needs. I’ll wait until the end of time for him if he asks me to.

“I think it’s best if I go,” he whispers, tracing over my bottom lip with his thumb before letting go of my chin.

I open my mouth to argue that these are his friends, his teammates. If anyone should be leaving, it should be me, but he holds up a hand to stop me before I get the chance to speak.

“You should stay. Enjoy yourself. I just… I need to clear my head.”

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