Page 10 of It's Always Been You
Without turning around, Julie sweeps a hand in the general direction of the stairs.
“As you can see, this office is full of professional athletes, so I can assure you that none of us are impressed by fame. We don’t care who you are, and we don’t care how much money you have. When my partner here said none of us are available, she meant that not one single one of us has time for you right now.”
Julie reaches over to the table we keep in the entryway and grabs a business card from the holder, handing it to him.
“Please contact us during normal business hours, and if we’re available, we would be happy to take your call.”
Gabe glances up at me, a pleading expression on his face like he’s expecting me to overrule Julie and agree to talk to him. But I stay where I am, feet frozen to the step. I say nothing, forcing my face into the most neutral expression I can manage. If he’s here, it means eventually, I’ll have to talk to him, but not now. Not while I’m caught off guard and flayed open without any armor in place and no way to protect myself.
I think he can still read me, too, because he turns back to my friends, smiling and holding up the business card.
“Thanks for this. I’ll be in touch.”
“Be sure that you are,” Hallie says, her voice just edging towards hostile and her face uncharacteristically hard.
My nerves are shredded, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have not either to scream or burst into tears. But I also feel a rush of love for my friends and the men who love them. They don’t know what’s going on here because I’ve never told them about this part of my past. But the way they knew what I needed and jumped to my rescue has me filled with gratitude for all of them.
I’m one of the lucky ones.
With a nod to my friends, Gabe turns on his heel and walks away. Julie closes the door and all three of my friends jointheir men on the stairs. I can see the questions on their faces. I expected them. But ten years is a long time to keep a secret, and this is a hard story to tell.
I’m not ready.
The guys go back down, giving us some privacy. Hallie, Julie, and Emma stand in front of me, their faces filled with love and concern in equal measure. Once upon a time, I thought Gabe Sullivan was the other half of my heart. But looking at the three women standing with me, ready to fight for me and hold me together and slay my dragons if that’s what I need, I think it’s them who are the missing pieces of me.
I love them so fiercely.
But right now, I can’t give them what they want.
“Not here, okay?” I say quietly. “I know you have questions, but I can’t answer them now. I need some time. Go back to the party. Please. I swear we’ll talk, but not now.”
Julie and Hallie glance at Emma, who studies me. As the empath among us, she’s the one who always knows what everyone needs. I will her to get it right this time, because I think if I have to say any more words, I’m going to lose it right here on the stairs. Emma reaches out and takes one of my hands.
“Take all the time you need, Mol. You know we’re here for you when you’re ready.”
I hug her tightly and feel Julie and Hallie each put a hand on my back.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Anything. Always. You know that.”
With one final squeeze, she lets me go, and with a backward glance from each of them, they make their way downstairs and back to the party.
I wait until everyone is occupied, then slip down through the kitchen and out the back door. I don’t remember getting into my car or driving home. Eventually, I just end up at my front door.Once I’m inside, I go up to my room, strip out of my clothes, and walk straight to the bathroom. I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand, and when steam fills the bathroom, I step in and close the glass door behind me.
It's only under the pouring water, hidden by the steam, that I sink to the shower floor. With my knees to my chest and my head resting on my arms, I finally let myself break.
Chapter Three
Molly
Once I finish my one-woman pity party, I scrub every inch of my body until my skin is pink and the shower water runs cold. I get out and grab my fluffiest towel off the warmer attached to my bathroom wall and wrap it around myself. The towel warmer was the result of a sleepless night internet browse, and I have no regrets.
Because when your long-lost college boyfriend, who you thought you would be with forever, comes walking back into your life on a random Wednesday afternoon ten years after he walked out of it, and then you cry yourself dry in the shower, the least your towel can do for you is be warm.
I open my medicine cabinet and eye my much beloved skincare lineup on the bottom shelf, ignoring the cascade of half-used andmaybe I’ll try this oneday products stacked on the rest of the shelves. I’m fastidious about my skincare routine, but tonight, I’m bone tired and emotionally rung out. So instead, I down three ibuprofen to ward off the inevitable post-crying jag headache and walk out of the bathroom.
I make it three steps before I turn back.
