Page 144 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

I lift my hand and cut him off. “I know I should tell you to chase your dreams. I know I should tell you I’m willing to do the long-distance thing––and I am––but not like this. Not when I’m expected to just…tag along. Unless you were planning on ending things with me before you left?”

“That’s not what I want!”

“Then, why didn’t you tell me?” I demand. “If you want there to be a you and me, I need there to be an actual you and me,” I explain, fighting between numbness, hurt, and absolute fury. “I need us to be equals. I need us to communicate. I need us to talk about things like adults instead of finding out about a pretty fucking huge decision like this”––I wave my hand toward the stack of papers––“like it’s a dirty secret. Like it’s something that deserves to be kept from me when we both know I have a right to know about it. Or at least, if you looked at me like a partner, I would.”

“I do look at you like you’re a partner.” His face twists in pain and fear. Fear that I’ll leave him. Fear that I’ll walk away. That I’ll push him away, the same way he’s clearly pushing me.

“Do you?” I ask. “Do you look at me like a partner, or do you look at me like I’m some…some little girl you need to protect? Because I’m stronger than you think, Theo.”

“Baby…” He reaches for me but stops himself and scrubs his palm from his forehead to his chin, his fingers digging into his skin. Like this is killing him.

Fun fact, Theo: it’s killing me too.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I push. “I’ve been asking for weeks about offers, and you’ve always deflected. But this?” I pick up the papers and shove them against his chest. “This isn’t some verbal agreement. This is binding.”

“I haven’t sent it yet,” he rushes out, fumbling with the papers. “Where do you want me to go? I’ll do whatever you want, go where––”

“Don’t you get it?” My voice cracks. “Where you go isn’t the issue.”

His shoulders deflate. It makes him look more lost than ever.

I let out a shaky breath and step closer to him, touching his forearm and dragging my fingers down his bare skin to his fisted hands. “This is why I was upset about the whole Coach firing me situation. Because you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t communicate with me. You didn’t respect my opinion.”

“Blake, I––”

“Let me finish,” I beg.

He stays quiet, his gaze glued to the ground.

“You made a decision without even bothering to talk to me about it, even though you knew it could potentially affect me. That’s why I was mad before, and it’s why I’m mad now. I need us to be a team. And in order to do that, you need to stop jumping into things without discussing them with me. I’m not trying to be controlling. I’m trying to be seen as an equal in this relationship instead of some girl who’s just…tagging along while you follow your dreams. Does that make sense?”

His frown almost kills me as he tears his attention from the carpet and looks me in the eye, his gaze swirling with regret. “Yeah, Blake. It makes sense.”

“Okay.” I sniff, my emotions clogging my stupid throat as I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Colt. “I’m going to have Colt drive me home tonight.”

“Babe––”

“It’s okay. And we’re okay, all right? I just…I need a minute to wrap my head around…” I wave my hand toward the stupid stack of papers. “Your future.”

“You mean our future.”

“If you want it to be our future, you need to work on letting me build it with you instead of expecting me to be cool with whatever you decide. That’s not how a relationship works, Teddy.” I bite my lip to keep from rambling more.

I need to back off for now. I need to rein in my temper. I’ve already proven my point, and no one likes listening to a broken record. But holy hell, it’s hard right now.

“Don’t go.” He grapples with my hand, refusing to let me go while also refusing to acknowledge why I’m frustrated in the first place.

A breath of air whooshes from my lungs as I fight the urge to run like last time. To hide from our problems instead of fighting through them. But even though I’m determined to make our relationship work, this still hurts.

It hurts a lot.

Breathe, Blake, I remind myself.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” I ask. “Because I need to know. I need to know if I’m getting through to you. If you can see why I’m upset right now and how it has nothing to do with where you sign and everything to do with your lack of communication.”

His head hangs. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

He’s right. He should’ve. But rubbing it in his face won’t get us anywhere.

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