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"But isshehappy?"

The words strike a nerve as they bring to mind memories of this past weekend, of Claire showing up at my bedroom door crying and shaking.

"Fuck you. I don’t know what you think you’re doing by trying to interfere in all of this, but you don’t know the half of what’s going on."

"You’re right, I don’t, because you won’t let me in. You won’t let anyone in, and until you do, you’re never going to be fully happy."

And with that, he hangs up, and I’m left staring at my phone with anger raging through my veins. I resist the urge to throw my phone at the wall and instead toss it on the desk. Who the fuck does he think he is, lecturing me like that? He’s acting like he’s my goddamn therapist who can just randomly call me up, tell me what I’m doing wrong with my life, then not call me again for another month or two.

But even as the anger surges through me, there's a small, quiet voice in the back of my mind that whispers,Maybe he's right. Maybe I am making myself miserable. Maybe I am pushing people away because I'm too afraid to let them in.

No. I keep people at arm’s length because it’s easier that way. Plus, Idolet people in; I’m just selective. Up until recently, I talked to Shane about everything, but now he has less and less time for me as the days go by.

I lean back in my chair with my eyes closed. The sound of the shower stops, and I imagine Claire stepping out, wrapping herself in a towel, her skin flushed and warm.

Is it worth it to risk everything I’ve built for myself for her?Yes, my mind immediately answers, but I push back against it. Even if she agrees to be mine, how long would it last until she gets bored and wants more of what the rest of the world has to offer?

Is it worth the risk to love someone even if the chance of them leaving is almost inevitable? Would the heartbreak of being hurt in the same way I’ve been hurt before be just another lesson to learn, or would it break me entirely this time?

I don’t know if I’m brave enough to find out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CLAIRE

I’m unable to suppress my smile as I grab Mark’s hand and drag him to the living room where the laptop is opened on the coffee table.

"Look!" I point at the screen once we’re close enough, and he bends down, squinting to read it.

It takes Mark a moment to register what he’s looking at, but once he sees my name highlighted, he straightens up and looks at me with raised eyebrows. "You aced both of your classes?"

"Yep!" I beam.

His smile grows, and he pulls me into his arms. "Claire, that’s amazing! Your first ever college semester and you managed that. I’m so proud of you." He squeezes me tight, and I lay my head against his chest. I’m smiling, but my eyes fill with tears at his words.He’s proud of me. It seems like such a small thing, hardly something to cry over, but those fourwords mean more to me than I could possibly explain to him.

After being forced to diminish myself for so long and being chastised for my curiosity growing up, here I am being praised for my desire to learn. Not only that, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard those words directed toward me by anyone. Simply knowing that someone who cares about me is proud of my accomplishments is enough to overwhelm me with joy.

I attempt to discreetly wipe my eyes, but Mark catches the action, pulling back slightly to look down at me. "Are you okay?" His expression is etched with concern.

I laugh through the tears. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little emotional that I was actually able to do this. I couldn’t have done it without you."

"You could have," he says gently, reaching up to brush a tear from my cheek and resting his hand there to cup my face.

I shake my head. "No, I couldn’t have. It would’ve taken me years to save up the money for classes after finding a place to live, and you’ve been paying me way more than necessary on top of that so that I haven’t needed to work otherwise. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough."

"I may have helped you get started, butyoudid all the hard work. It wasyourwillpower and intelligence that allowed you to succeed."

Smiling up at him, I say, "Thank you" and attempt to hold back the fresh wave of tears coming to my eyes. He’s partly right—I did work hard to excel in my classes—but I never would have had the means to take them in the first place had he not decided to offer me a place to stay and a way to earn money. Not only that, but his ongoing support has motivated me to do my very best.

I want his approval, his pride, his affection. I want to make him proud. And as he stares down at me with a softsmile, I wonder if he can see in my expression just how much he means to me. It’s so much more than I’ve been willing to admit, too afraid to scare him off, but with the way he’s looking at me, I can’t help but think he feels the same way I do.

Mark leans forward to pull me against him again, and he softly kisses the top of my head before pulling away.

"How would you feel about going to dinner to celebrate?" he asks.

"That sounds wonderful. I’m supposed to have a therapy appointment at three, but—" I’m about to tell him I can cancel it, but he interrupts.

"I’ll drive you there, and we can grab dinner afterward."