Page 51 of Falling Overboard

“I know how hard that can be to do,” he said.

“It is,” I agreed. “It makes me cling to the things that I want, the things that I care about. And the anxiety probably comes from the loss.”

I’d never seen a therapist, but it was as good an explanation as any other.

“Have you dealt with depression? Anxiety is often comorbid with depression.”

“I don’t have time to be depressed.” Realizing how that sounded I hurried to explain. “I’m not trying to make light of it or sound flippant, and I know how debilitating it can be for so many people, but I’ve had to work multiple jobs since I was fourteen to help my family. Like I said, I had to keep putting one foot in front of the other because there wasn’t another choice.”

He was quiet for a long time. So quiet that it made me wonder if I’d said something that had offended him.

Just when I was about to apologize, he turned his head toward me. “You’re a really strong person.”

“I don’t know if I’m strong. I don’t feel very strong.” Hot tears welled up in my eyes, surprising me. “I really don’t want to cry right now.”

“It would be okay if you did.”

Another reaction I was unused to. Most of the guys I’d dated got upset if I cried. One had even accused me of using it as a manipulation tactic. I nodded and closed my eyelids and felt two tears quickly falling down my cheeks.

“Would it be all right if I hugged you?” he asked.

“Yes.” I desperately needed to be held.

He turned his body toward mine and took me in his arms. I pressed my face against his shoulder. Everything about him exuded not only strength, like he could protect me from anything, but a sense that things were going to be okay.

It had been a very long time since I had felt as safe as I did in his embrace.

Definitely dangerous.

His cheek settled on the top of my head, and when he spoke, his words seemed to echo inside my skull. “My sister Harper used to sayshe had sharp edges because she had been broken and then tried to put herself back together. She was worried it made her rough with other people, so she kept them at a distance.”

“That’s how I feel.” I related so much to that statement. In pushing people away and in feeling irretrievably broken. “I’ve tried to dull some of my edges.”

“I hope you don’t. I like your sharp edges.”

This felt like more than a friendship. It felt like the beginning of something. Like there could be a romantic relationship between us if we both let it.

But I had to remind myself that he was a genuinely nice guy who responded to people in need. Probably because of his own loss—it had made him a more compassionate and aware person. He was kind.

I needed to remember that.

And why I had been avoiding romantic entanglements for so long.

He started rubbing his hand up and down my back. It was meant to be in a soothing way, but it wasn’t soothing me. It was getting me riled up.

I had to put those barriers in place. Erect the protective walls.

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re my friend.” I said it more for myself than for him.

His arms tightened around me. “Me too.”

There. He had just confirmed it. Only friends. He wasn’t interested and only saw us as friends.

Which was what I wanted. What I needed.

So why did it feel like my heart was breaking all over again?

Chapter Eighteen

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