Page 46 of The Promises We Broke
"We talked. Really talked, for the first time since I've been back. I apologized for leaving, for not telling her the truth, for letting her think I didn't care enough to explain."
"And?" Reece prompted gently.
"And she said we could try being friends again."
I watched another one of those silent communications pass between Booker and Reece, the kind where entire conversations happened in glances and micro-expressions. They'd probably discussed this already, had probably seen what I was too scared to hope for and too afraid to assume. It was moving past endearing and starting to get annoying now.
"But you want more than friendship," Booker said. It wasn't a question.
There was no point in denying it, especially not when I was sitting in their kitchen being cared for by two people who understood what it meant to fight for love and win. "I want everything with her that I was too scared and stupid to fight for when we were kids. But I'm terrified that wanting it is going to make me screw it up again."
Reece reached across the table and touched my hand briefly, the kind of gentle contact that offered comfort without demanding anything in return. "What makes you think you'd screw it up?"
"Because I'm good at hurting people. Because every time things start to feel real and permanent and worth fighting for, I find ways to sabotage them. Because I've spent eleven yearsproving I'm not reliable or trustworthy or capable of staying when things get difficult."
"Or," Booker said, his voice matter-of-fact in a way that cut through my self-pity, "because you care too much and don't know how to handle it. Because you'd rather hurt yourself than risk hurting someone else."
I looked between the two of them. Booker with his steady certainty, Reece with her gentle understanding. And I realized they were seeing something I couldn't see about myself. Something that maybe Billie had seen too, sitting in that dusty house while I fell apart and told her the truth about why I'd left.
"So instead you decided to take a sledgehammer to a wall?" Reece asked, and there was something almost fond in her exasperation.
"It was a crowbar actually. And it seemed like a good idea at the time."
Booker snorted, but there was affection underneath the sound. "You always were too hard on yourself. Even when we were kids, you'd rather hurt yourself than risk disappointing anyone else."
"Maybe because I'm good at disappointing people."
"Or maybe because you set impossible standards for yourself and then use your failure to meet them as evidence that you don't deserve the things you want most." Reece's observation was delivered with the kind of gentle directness that made it impossible to argue with. "Sound familiar?"
It was clarity in a brutally honest way and surprising considering we didn't know each other that well. Was I really that easy to read? Or was it that this whole situation was far simpler than I wanted to believe?
Before I could respond, Val came bounding through the kitchen door that had been left ajar, her fluffy coat dusty from whatever adventure she'd been on in the pasture. She spotted me immediately and padded over, resting her chin on my kneewith the kind of unconditional affection that only dogs seemed capable of.
"She's been looking for you," Reece said, scratching behind the dog's ears. "Every morning since you moved to the cottage, she checks the main house first, then comes looking for you here."
I stroked Val's head, finding comfort in her simple, uncomplicated presence. "Smart girl."
"She knows family," Booker said quietly. "She knows you belong here, even when you're not sure of it yourself."
The word family hit me harder than I'd expected. For so many years, I'd thought of myself as the brother who'd forfeited his place in the family through his own choices and cowardice. But watching Booker and Reece care for me with such matter-of-fact kindness, having Val seek me out every morning like my presence mattered, made me wonder if belonging was less about deserving it and more about accepting it.
"She's supposed to come by today for a session," I said, not specifying who she was because we all knew. "I don't want her to see me like this."
"Like what? Human?" Reece asked. "Dealing with the fact that recovery isn't a straight line and setbacks are part of the process?"
"Like someone who takes three steps backward every time he makes progress forward."
Booker and Reece exchanged another one of their wordless conversations, and I gritted my teeth as I tried to just wait them out.
I wanted that with Billie. Had always wanted that with her, even when we were teenagers and thought we had all the time in the world to figure out how to love each other properly.
"You know what I think?" Booker said finally.
"I'm probably going to hear it whether I want to or not." I was getting grumpy from hurting so much, but at least Booker had the good grace not to point it out.
"I think you're more afraid of healing than you are of staying broken. Because if you heal, really heal, emotionally and physically, then you have to take responsibility for building a life instead of just surviving it."
The words hit harder than I'd expected, settling into the space around my ribs where the pain was sharpest. "Maybe."
