Page 47 of Glad You Exist

So instead, I’m pushing my body to the brink of exhaustion and pain. I work out the frustration and rage. I desperately need an outlet for this shitty feeling of absolute helplessness, of not being able to protect her when that’s my fucking job.

Now I feel like I also failed her by leaving her alone in the aftermath.

I should have gone and checked on her.

Instead, here she is checking on me.

Good going Brad. Way to be a selfish asshole.

I sit up on the bench as I watch her walk in.

My heart races at the sight of her. Then breaks at the memory of how she felt in my arms earlier, shaking and gasping for air.

She has her head down as she shuts the door behind her and crosses the room with soft-padded footsteps. She’s holding a small box in her hands. The guilt punches me again. This is probably why they wanted me to come down. She has been waiting to give this to me.

“Are you okay?”

“You okay?”

We speak at the same time.

She looks up, a shy smile on her face.

“Happy Birthday.” She holds the box out to me.

I swipe my shirt hastily around my neck and arms before I get up and take the box from her.

Now I regret my decision to work out. She looks adorable in silk pajamas, her hair in a side braid and she smells amazing. Freshly showered with a scent all Liz, a hint of lavender and vanilla while I undoubtedly smell like a dirty gym sock.

“Thanks El.” I open the box to find a small lava cake.

My favorite.

There’s only one place this could have come from.

I turn the box to check and sure enough it’s from Thea’s. A small bakeshop downtown.

I beam at her, “You remembered?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “How could I forget? You told your mom you hated her because she wouldn’t buy this for you once.” She wags her finger at me, her eyes twinkling with laughter. “You. Made. Her. Cry.”

I chuckle and rub a knuckle on my brow, “I was eight.”

She shakes her head in amusement, but then she stops and her gaze rakes over me then quickly to my gym equipment.

“When did you start working out?”

I shrug, surprised by the abruptness of the question but I humor her.

“Freshman year. I needed a physical activity to release tension, an outlet, when I’m frustrated as fuck.”

Her eyebrows rise and I realize she might have mistaken that as innuendo.

I open my mouth to refute it, but she walks away and plucks a small weight from the floor. Her sudden mood shift is as blatant as the way her shoulders are suddenly rigid. She plays with the weight in her hand, avoiding my eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined your party.”

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve closed the distance between us.

Crooking a finger under her chin, I force her to meet my eyes.

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