Page 111 of Blindside Me
“You were defending me.”
“Yeah, but this time was different.” He shakes his head, jaw flexing. “I gave in. And I liked it. That’s the worst part.”
My feet carry me closer, that charged string drawing me to him. “Drew?—”
He steps back again, and the rejection stings like a motherfucker.
“My brother was the same. Quick to fight. My dad? Worse.” His voice breaks slightly. “I told myself I wouldn’t be like them. Tonight, I was.”
I want to reach for him, but I don’t.
“You’re not them,” I say.
“You saw me out there.” His voice turns hollow. “I wanted to hurt him, Jade. Really hurt him for what he said about you, but also just … because I could. Because it felt good.”
The confession hangs between us. I should be scared, maybe. Should be backing away from the admission of violence. But all I feel is a terrible clarity.
“And that terrifies you,” I realize aloud.
He nods once, a sharp jerk of his head. “It should terrify you, too.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then you’re not paying attention.” His voice hardens. “I’m toxic. I’m the kind of guy you should be running from. The kind who loses control. The kind who breaks things.” He gestures between us. “This isn’t safe.”
The words hit their target with painful accuracy. This isn’t about Roman or hockey or even tonight. This is Drew decidinghe’s too dangerous to be near me. This is Drew cutting me loose before I can get hurt. This is Drew walking away before I can.
Just like everyone else.
“So that’s it?” I can barely speak past the bubble of pain lodged in my throat. “One fight and you’re done?”
“It’s not about the fight.” His gaze finds mine, and the turmoil in it cracks my heart further. “It’s about who I am. Who I might become if I stay.”
“That’s bullshit. That’s just an excuse to run because things got hard.”
His face hardens. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.” My tone is stern as my hurt crystallizes into something sharper. “You’re scared, so you’re running. Just like everyone else in my life.”
He opens his mouth, but I push forward.
“You think I don’t know what it’s like to be left?” My voice shakes. “My mom walked out six times before I turned sixteen. My uncle took this job and didn’t look back. I don’t need you to protect me, Drew. I need you to stop running.”
He swallows hard like the words hurt.
“I’m not good for you.” His voice is so low I can barely hear the following words. “I’m not good for anyone right now.”
And there it is. The goodbye wrapped in concern. The abandonment dressed up as protection. I’ve heard variations of this my entire life, and it never hurts any less.
“You think you’re broken? Maybe you are. But so am I. And I still showed up.”
“I’m trying to be honest with you,” he says, his voice strained. “You saw what happened tonight. That’s who I am when I lose control. That’s the real me.”
“That’s such fucking bullshit.” The words cut through the night air. “The real you is the guy who texts me stupid memes at two in the morning, the guy who remembers I like my coffeewith two sugars, not one, and the guy who listens when I talk about my writing even though you don’t care about romance.”
Each example lands like a blow, making him flinch slightly. He opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his head.
“One good moment doesn’t erase the bad ones.”
