Page 220 of Catch Me
“My parents,” I began, thinking back on all those years ago. “They always fought. I wanted them to leave each other, but they wouldn’t. I was mad at my mom for staying, and I was mad at my dad for always being an asshole. And I’m fucking mad at myself for becoming so much like him. Realizing what I’d become—who I’d become—made me start to dismantle my beliefs a few years ago. I tried to separate him from me, but figuring out where one began and the other ended was like dissecting myself.
“I’m not angry at my mom anymore, but I’ve never forgiven him, and with every piece of myself that I found in the mayhem, I saw how many of my parents’ problems were because of him and his refusal to change, even when it hurt me and my mom. He’s not just loud about it. He’s cruel. I’ve spent years building shit up so he can’t touch me, but it never works, and now—”
“Now what?” He stood too, stepping into my path so I had to stop.
“I have something to lose.”
“You think I’d run from this? From you?”
I stared at him, my chest heaving. His sweater was wrinkled from the bed, hair mussed, and those eyes—fuck, those eyes—held me like they always did.
“I don’t know,” I admitted more quietly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“I’m not running. Not from him, not from us.”
My hands clenched, then unclenched. I wanted to believe him. God, I did, but the fear was burning through my veins.
He took my face in his hands and brushed his nose against mine. “You wouldn’t let anyone help you figure things out for a really long time, baby. You couldn’t trust me when I told you that you were safe with me in December, and it hurt me, but I understand it. Let me be here for you now. There’s nothing in your life that you have to go through alone anymore. You hear me?”
After a minute, I nodded. “I hear you.”
He smiled, like that settled it, and sank back onto the bed. I didn’t move as I watched him grab the remote. When he’d put something on, he grabbed my hand and dragged me down beside him. I leaned into him, and he turned to kiss my temple. The tenderness made me feel weak, but I didn’t pull away. My fingers found his hand, and I traced the calluses that had built up from repeatedly throwing the ball for years.
We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t need to right now.
But as the TV glowed, I couldn’t shake it, the thought of my dad’s boots on my doorstep, his words tearing through everything I’d fought for. And Travis, here in the middle of it. I didn’t know if I could protect him from that. I didn’t know if I could protect myself.
Chapter 71
Travis
It had been a week since the last game, and the sky in Seattle was grey, the cold seeping through the windows of this shitty little apartment that cost a criminal amount for the size of it. But he wanted to be in the city, in Capitol Hill, because that was where he felt at home. It seemed artsy over here, so maybe that was why.
I leaned against the counter, sipping coffee while he sat on the couch. He was sketching Tessa, who was sprawled at his feet, her tail thumping every time Roman looked at her.
She’d flown here with me yesterday, and she’d been a menace until she finally got to see him. He’d smiled then, but now his pencil moved slowly, deliberately, like he was carving something out of himself. I watched him, the way his shoulders hunched and his jaw tightened every few strokes. Something was off.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, the screen lighting up. He glanced at it, then froze with his pencil mid-air. I caught the name beforehe flipped it over. He stared at the blank back of the phone like it might bite.
“You gonna get that?” I asked, setting my mug down.
“Nope.” He went back to sketching, but his lines got sharper. Tessa whined, nudging his knee, and he scratched her ears absently.
I walked over and sat on the arm of the couch. “He’s been calling?”
“Every day.”
I clenched my jaw as I thought about the things Roman’s dad had said to his mom. “Fuck him.”
Roman snorted, a ghost of a laugh. “Yeah, well, he’d say the same about you.”
“Let him.” I slid down onto the cushion beside him, glancing at the sketch. “You think he’ll show up?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. He’s stubborn enough. Probably wants to drag me back to Idaho, fix me with some outdated church shit.”
“He doesn’t get to do that.”
“Won’t stop him from trying.” He looked up at me then, his brow smoothing out. “I don’t think he believes in conversion. Just God in general. Prayer. Getting me away from you is probably high up on the list.”
