Page 112 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“‘Cause your face lit up while you were doing it. You got this sexy smirk as soon as you hit enter and the numbers balanced out. I was curious if you knew it made you happy or if you were too stubborn to acknowledge it.”

“I’m not too stubborn, I’m––”

“Afraid you’ll fail?” he challenges, though his voice is soft. Patient. It doesn’t make his accusation sting any less, though.

I avoid his gaze and lean forward again to close his laptop, cutting off the last bit of light in the room until we’re both painted in darkness, and hug my legs to my chest. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You should go back to school if you want. Do something simply because it makes you happy. Even if it’s hard.”

“And Penny? I’m a mom now.”

“She’ll be proud of her mama for going after what she wants.”

“I can’t put Penny on the backburner.”

“You won’t be.”

“Yes, I will,” I argue.

“I’m here, remember?”

For how long?I want to ask, but I bite my tongue, staring blankly at the dark television in front of us, my eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light.

He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “I’m not saying you need to go back right now. I’m just saying you shouldn’t have to put your life on hold because you have a kid. Do what you love, Mads. Don’t punish yourself for your past.”

“Who says I’m punishing myself?”

His forehead is warm as he rests it against mine. “I know you.”

The problem is, I know me too.

“What if I don’t make the cut?” I breathe out. “What if I’m bad at it? What if I fail?”

“You won’t fail.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” he repeats. “You can do anything once you’ve committed. It’s thecommittingpart that makes you squeamish.”

A breath of laughter escapes me as he presses his lips to my forehead. “Good point.”

“But until you’re ready, you can practice on Etch 'N Ink’s books. From now on, they’re your problem. Not mine.”

With another laugh, I cup his scruffy cheeks and kiss him playfully. “You would trust me with Etch 'N Ink’s books?”

“Yeah, Mads. I trust you with everything.”

Like a rock, dread falls into the pit of my stomach, and I turn away from him, hating how hard it is to keep doing this. To keep the truth from him. To carry the guilt.

He drags his fingers through my hair and kisses my forehead. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Did what?” I ask, avoiding his gaze.

“Stepped into shit without knowing it.”

“You didn’t––”

“Whatever’s freaking you out, whatever’s keeping you from opening up to me, let it go. It’s in your past. I’m your future. Aren’t I?”

---