Page 100 of Faker
We’re so close his chest almost touches mine. I want nothing more than to give in and rest my head on his shoulder.
The tears finally fall, and his hand finds my cheek. “Let me hold you. Please?”
His words combined with his gentle touch seal the open wound between us. When I nuzzle into his chest, it’s an acceptance of his apology. I need this just as much as he does.
Despite the heaven of this hug, remaining doubts nag at me. I breathe deeply and take a step back from him.
“If we had to go through all this just to get you to be open with me—your girlfriend—this can’t work.” I motion between us with my arm.
He hesitates, his face twisting. I pause to steady myself. The thought of this being the end kills me, but it’s the only option if we can’t communicate honestly. Tears pool at the waterlines of my eyes, and I wonder how long it will be before I start crying again.
“If this can’t work, I can’t go back to normal,” I say. “I can’t see you every day at work if I have to pretend we’re enemies again.”
It’s our worst-case scenario. The high stakes Tate was so confident about.
“Emmie, you were never my enemy,” he says softly.
“I know that now, but we’ve treated each other like it for so long. We have to figure out a way to move forward or move on.”
I’m not sure how I’d cope, but I’d have to throw on some military-grade bulletproof invisible armor at work if that became our new normal. I’d need to fake a whole new persona around Tate just to survive. Too much has happened between us, and everything has changed. Moving on most likely means one of us would quit Nuts & Bolts when we couldn’t take being around the other any longer, and I have a feeling I’d throw in the towel before he did. I can already feel the crack in my heart forming, preparing for that inevitable day.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Here. I want you to read all the texts I’ve exchanged with Natalie this past year.”
“What?”
“Read them. All the way back to when I started at Nuts & Bolts.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to know everything.”
“You’re serious?”
He shakes his head. “I could stand here and tell you that I’ve never taken care of someone the way I took care of you, that you’re the first woman I’ve had over to this apartment. I could tell you that I’ve never told anyone about my eighth birthday because I’m private to a fault. I could tell you that I’ve never let anyone in, except you.”
He types the passcode on his phone and hands it to me. “But that’s not good enough. I want to be open with you. I want to show you what you mean to me, Emmie.”
He’s weirdly calm now. I can’t figure out what’s going on.
I shake my head. “That’s got to be hundreds of texts. No way I’m doing that.”
“There’s fifty texts, max. I hate texting. I hardly ever do it. If it takes you longer than fifteen minutes to read all my messages with Natalie over the past year, I’ll be shocked.”
“But we spent the week after my surgery texting every day.”
He shrugs. “I hate texting. Except with you.”
My heartbeat takes on a fluttery rhythm. “You’re serious?” I repeat.
“Dead serious. Have a look. Sit on the couch if you want. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
He slides past me, our arms touching briefly. I move to the couch and scroll to his text messages screen. I can’t find Camille’s name there or in his contacts list. He was telling the truth. She hasn’t been on his mind or his phone in a long while.
I scroll through his texts with Natalie. The first exchange that catches my eye is from two months after Tate and I started working together.
Natalie: Just tell her the truth. She’ll understand.
Tate: Doubtful. I’ve been a jerk to her for too long. Nothing I say will fix that.
