Page 163 of Becoming Us

“Atty…”

“You’re allowed to feel like this.”

I tried to curl into myself, shoulders hunching. “You sound like Sam.”

“Because it’s true.” He slid his hand behind my neck, offering me a place to rest, to ground myself. “And you don’t have to hide it. Not from me. If you’re sad, or angry, or feel like you got hurt,tell me.Always. I could pull the covers over us right now and remind you we’re in our safe place, but we don’t need to. It’s just us. Wherever we are, if we’re together—I’ll be your safe place. Just like you’re mine.”

There it was. What I could never quite put into words. She used to see my weakness and use it against me. But he did the opposite—he saw it, and somehow turned it into somethinggood. He took what broke me, held it gently, and gave it back with meaning. With healing.

That’s all I had ever wanted. To feel safe.

I nodded, the knot in my throat making it impossible to say anything.

“You don’t have to explain anymore, okay? I get it. And I’m here for you,” he added.

That sounded like he actually believed me. Like I didn’t have to name every instance, every slight. He just believed me?

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Noah. You need a break. Calm,” he said, his eyes drifting to my right. “I’m going to run a bath for both of us. Then maybe we can get food, take a nap? We don’t even have to go to the Mass if you don’t want to.”

I tilted my head. “It’s not going to be a walk in the park, but I can handle it.”

He nodded, a little stiff. “Bath?”

“Sure.”

He kissed my cheek and stepped off the bed, walking into the bathroom and leaving the door ajar.

I stared at the empty space he left behind, not really thinking before I followed him in. He stood with his hands on his hips, facing the tub as it filled. His posture was too tense.

I reached for his arm. “Hey.”

Atty startled at the sight of me, then rubbed his hands over his face, quickly and almost harshly. Was he crying?

I stepped closer, gently pulling his hands away. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head fast. “Nothing. I’m just processing.”

“Atty, you just said?—”

“I know what I said, but it just hit me and I—” His breath caught. He rubbed his eyes again.

“What?”

“I’m sad, Noah. I’m just…sad for you.” His eyes were rimmed red, his cheeks tear-streaked.

“You don’t have to?—”

“It’s not that I have to. And I don’t feel sorry for you, okay? That’s not what this is. I’m just sad because I can picture you as a kid, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you don’t make noise when you cry.” His voice trembled. “Last night was the first time I’ve actually heard you cry, and it just…it got to me. Because it makes sense.” He paused, eyes searching mine. “It makes so much sense in the worst way. Because this is why you can do it, right?”

“Do what?”

“This is why you can read me so well.”His eyes stayed on mine, and the silence stretched.

I knew he was piecing it together, even if neither of us said it out loud.

Yeah. I learned early.