Page 41 of Finding the Pieces

“You know that goes both ways, right?” His question catches me off guard, though I guess it shouldn’t. Not with the way Dom has everyone in on his game for me.

“I’m okay, really. I’m grateful for everyone who agreed to…participate in what Dom has planned. But really, I’m okay.”

“You know it’d be okay if you admitted you weren’t.”

An uneasiness settles into my lungs, making it difficult to take a full breath.

“You didn’t ask me to explain myself,” Aiden continues. “When I was struggling, you didn’t dwell on all I could have done differently. You helped me pick myself up and move forward.” He swipes a palm over his face. “I don’t want you to think you have to minimize what you’re going through with all of us.”

All I can do is nod, biting my lip because all of a sudden, I feel like crying. This feels dangerously close to digging into my own wounds, and I’m not doing that tonight.

I bury it, shake it off, and force a smile.

“Thank you. I’m going to be okay.”

He waits a moment, measuring the truth of my words before he nods. “I know. And like you said, we’ll be here for you both when you need help remembering who you are. Thanks again, Ellie. I don’t know if I can ever thank you enough, but I’m grateful all the same.”

He takes off, heading toward his mom and Evie, who are speaking with Mr. Miller and one of Bec’s brothers, leaving me feeling…vulnerable.

With only a few words—my own thrown back at me—all my doubt, all my insecurities are laid bare for everyone to see. I’ve been doing my best to hold myself together, desperately grasping at the seams to pretend I can do it all without falling apart.

When you need help remembering who you are.

It’s a punch to the gut. By trying to reassure Aiden, I’ve only shaken my perception of myself. I don’t remember who I was. That version of me feels so far away, like a stranger, an imaginary someone who never really existed. If I can’t remember who I was, then who am I now?

Chapter twenty

Ellie

“This is weird, right? Why did Dom think I needed to do something like this?” I ask while Dee, Chris, and I put on safety gear at Ruby’s Rage Retreat.

The infamous Ruby is a short, no-nonsense elderly woman with stark white hair cut close and wispy around her small face. Her eyes were cold and her smile was nonexistent as she showed us to our room and explained the setup and rules. The walls are covered with tools ranging from hammers to golf clubs. A cracked leather sofa is shoved against the opposite wall. Really cozies the place right up.

“Maybe the mastermind behind this plan didn’tthinkyou needed to do something like this, babe. Heknew,” Dee says, with a wink at Chris. She picks up a metal baseball bat, giving it a twirl before picking up a sledgehammer.

I scoff at the sight of her double fisting her weapons of choice and at the sentiment. “And you? Do you also think I need a rage retreat?” I ask Chris, who is suspiciously quiet.

Avoiding eye contact, Chris takes off his safety glasses, cleaning them as if we aren’t about to wreck a room together with no real need for his sight to bethatclear.

“Chris?” I ask again.

“Okay, I need to tell you something,” he says so quickly I have to do that thing where I slow down what he said and replay it in my mind again to make sure I heard him correctly.

Chris shuffles his weight from one leg to the other and stares at his thumb while he picks the side of it. He huffs a deep breath, shoulders dropping as he straightens his spine, looking at me with determination and a flicker of hesitation.

“I picked it. This was my idea. Dom asked me to choose the next activity,” he says.

“And here we are,” Dee says with glee as she runs her palm up the side of a metal pipe.

Jesus, are we playing Clue?Dee in the rage room with the candlestick. No one would be surprised.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me this piece was from you?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I was nervous you wouldn’t like my contribution to the whole puzzle thing,” Chris says with a tight smile.

“It is quite the surprising pick from you,” I say, trying to make light. Chris won’t meet my gaze. “Are you all right? You’re not acting like yourself…”

“I’m just worried about you. I remember how it felt. When I was at my lowest,” he says. When his brown, glassy eyes lock on mine, I don’t even think; I step closer and wrap my arms around his waist.

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