Page 63 of Becoming Us

He looked right at me. Pleading.

“I can’t.”

“You can. Do it for him.”

I stared back—and then the words came, soft and simple. “I love you. It’s going to be okay.”

The silence stretched. My breaths filled the space, the only sound in the world now my quiet sniffling.

But still, the knot in my chest began to loosen, little by little.

“He’s not alone. He has you,” Samuel said.

I took a deep breath, trying to fill my lungs as much as I could.

“Open your eyes when you’re ready. Take your time,” he added.

I let myself breathe a few more times, then did as he said.

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been ripped open,” I said honestly.

“Sounds about right,” he replied. “Now, I want you to look at me when I tell you this.”

With some effort, I met his gaze.

“You are worth it. You’re a good person. And you’re enough.”

My eyes burned again as I gave him a stiff nod.

“Atticus chose to give your relationship another shot because he believes those things too. But you can’t control what he decides. What youcando is give yourself the chance to build something new. A different relationship. One based on partnership—as equals.”

I nodded, absently playing with my fingers. My hand found the medallion around my neck, and I tugged at it.

“So how do I do that?” I asked, pulling my shirt over my face to wipe it.

“Well,” Samuel said, “first, you grieve your past relationships. Accept that what they were is gone.”

I snorted. “Because we all know how great I am at grieving and letting shit go,” I muttered, sarcasm thick in my voice.

“You can be, Noah.” Samuel’s voice was firmer now, more certain.

I looked up, surprised by the strength behind it.

“You absolutelycanbe. Just give yourself the chance.”

I nodded slowly, though doubt still sat heavy in my chest. My track record wasn’t exactly inspiring. But I wanted to try. For Atty—and for me.

And for him too. That kid in the closet flashed in my mind again, and a wave of protectiveness surged through me. I wanted to give him what he needed. And if I ever had a fighting chance of doing that, I’d have to face everything I’d fought so hard to bury.

“Okay, Doc. Give me the run-through,” I said.

Samuel smiled again.

“How do I tackle this motherfucker?”

Ezra, Atty, and I had slipped into a rhythm since the sprain. Ezra usually drove me to class, picked up Atty, and headed to the club. Then, depending on their schedules—and how many times Atty and I had seen each other that week—one of them would swing back to get me.