Page 75 of Becoming Us
A soft knock sounded behind me.
“Hey.” Atty’s voice was a low rumble that cut through my thoughts.
I turned and offered a faint smile. “Hey.”
His eyes swept across my face, serious. “Steve just left. I didn’t want to interrupt your call.”
“Did you have a good talk?”
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. It was fine.”
“Good.”
We stood at opposite ends of the terrace. Something about the air between us felt familiar—like déjà vu, heavy and unspoken.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I was. That was my mom on the phone, and…you know. Talking to her always puts me in a weird place.”
He shifted his weight. “I know.”
“Do you want to go out?” I was hoping it would alleviate some of the tension.
“I was actually going to ask if I could jump on the treadmill. Had to go in early this morning and missed my run. I won’t be long—I’ve got a change of clothes here.” He nudged his thumb toward the gym.
“That’s fine by me.” My fingers combed through my hair. “I’ll play for a bit while you do.” Yeah. That was it. I just needed to let it out.
He tilted his head. “Drums?”
I nodded and crossed the space to him. Reaching for his hips, I kept it slow, giving him space to back off if he wanted to. He didn’t. The second I was close enough, he wrapped his arms around my neck and drew me in, our bodies flush.
I looped my arms around his waist and breathed him in.
“Go get fit,” I quipped after a quiet moment of letting myself be held by him. Then I stepped back, catching the way his eyes lingered. Searching, always searching.
“I’ll be in my room. If I’m still playing, just tap my shoulder if I don’t answer, okay?”
He nodded, and we drifted apart.
Inside my room, I closed my eyes and tried to do the thing Samuel always insisted on—stand in the feeling. Even if it was uncomfortable—just stay in it. Feel it.
I wasn’t sure I was doing it right. That familiar ache in my chest crept in again, sharp and unplaceable, too close to guilt.
Then something worse hit. That instinctive twitch, like I was reaching for something I didn’t have. My hand moved on its own, halfway to my pocket before I stopped it.
No.
I scrubbed my palms down my face, pinched the bridge of my nose, and held in a breath before letting it out slowly.
Nope.
Dropping into a crouch, I gripped my hair, eyes squeezed shut.
It fixes nothing.
It only makes things worse.
Stop telling me it’s going to fix it.
