Page 86 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
Journey finished her sandwich and pushed her plate away. “Can I tell you something your mother would say if she were here?”
“What?”
“That your father didn’t let his war wounds keep him from loving her. He could have hidden behind his trauma, used his pain as an excuse to stay closed off. Instead, he chose to trust her with his heart.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“He was the victim. Gerald was the one who—” I stopped, realizing what I was about to say.
“Gerald was the one who hurt you. And instead of letting that make you bitter and closed off forever, you could choose to trust Christian with your heart.”
I sat back in my chair, the parallel hitting me hard. My father had come home from war broken in body and spirit, but he’d chosen love over fear. He’d decided to continue building a life with my mother instead of hiding behind his wounds.
“I don’t know how to do this, Journey. I don’t know how to love someone without losing myself.”
“You don’t have to know how. You just have to be willing to try.”
“And if it doesn’t work out?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried. At least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering.”
Journey reached for the check, but I grabbed it first. “Lunch is on me. It’s the least I can do after dumping all this on you.”
“You didn’t dump anything on me. This is what friends do.” She smiled. “Besides, I’m proud of you.”
“For what?”
“For being brave enough to fall in love again.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Yes, you have. You opened yourself up to Christian. You let him in, even when you thought you were controlling the narrative. That takes courage. And to be honest, I don’t see you losing yourself. You are you when you’re with him and when you’re away. He doesn’t make you feel inadequate. This is golden, honey.”
We walked back toward the school with the wind whipping around us. Journey had given me perspective, support, and a gentle push in the right direction.
“So what are you going to do?” she asked as we reached her classroom.
“I don’t know yet. But I know I can’t keep pretending this is just an arrangement anymore.”
“Good. Because from everything you’ve told me, Christian stopped pretending a long time ago.”
She hugged me goodbye, and I walked back to my car with my mind spinning. Journey was right, I’d been so focused on protecting myself from potential pain that I’d been blind to the actual love standing right in front of me.
The question now was whether I was brave enough to do something about it.
Chapter
Nineteen
CHRISTIAN
“The thingabout focaccia is you can’t rush it.”
I was talking to my empty kitchen, with flour dusting my black t-shirt as I kneaded the dough. “It takes time to develop the right texture, the right?—”
I stopped mid-sentence, realizing how ridiculous I sounded having a conversation with bread dough. But my penthouse was too quiet tonight, and I needed something to fill the silence.
