Page 68 of Catch Me (Becoming Us #4)

“We’d barely started to build anything, but it didn’t matter because I’d already done that in my head, which is my own fault.

He was struggling with something so important, but what I chose to put into it matters too.

I don’t let myself open my heart to people for this exact reason.

This time was worse because it felt more real than anyone else I’ve been with.

I trusted him with parts of me I’ve been protecting for a really long time, and he made me a promise that made me feel like I’d be safe if I surrendered to it.

Then, I woke up and...” I closed my eyes against the tears.

“Suddenly, I was fifteen again, betrayed and abandoned while the person who was supposed to be there decided there was something inside of me that they couldn’t love enough to stick around for. How do I let that go?”

“You don’t,” he said simply. “You can’t erase pain, and if you ignore it, it becomes something worse.

Anger, maybe.” He nodded toward the blood on my knuckles.

“The only thing you can do is move past it and heal. You can do that on your own or you can choose to do it with the person who cares so much about you that he types out a message when he thinks no one is watching. He does it alm ost every time I see him, for the past eight months, but he never hits send.”

“What does it say?”

“It just says ‘hey.’ He’s a very unromantic person, I guess.”

My lips trembled, so I rolled them inward. I was not going to have a breakdown with Brooks. There were some things that just weren’t meant to happen.

“Thanks,” I told him. “Maybe you’re onto something with this whole reading between the lines thing.”

“People should listen to me more often. One more thing.” He dropped his feet to the floor and moved closer. “Don’t wait until the last second. I wish I’d never seen Tilian’s eyes the moment before he was about to give up on me.”

There was a beep, then two voices on the other side of the door.

Brooks shoved me into the bathroom and leaned against the frame.

When Tilian and Roman came into the room, they said something to him, then it grew quieter.

Brooks grabbed my arm and led me toward the hallway.

He flashed me a smile and a peace sign before he closed the door, leaving me out here like I was some sneaky link he’d snuck past his partner.

When I got back to my room, everything came crashing down.

My anger, sadness, and the pain that I’d felt when I woke up that morning ten months ago.

I felt it deep in my chest, a physical ache that I’d either grown used to or managed to ignore for so long.

Now, it was back, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

I grabbed the chair beside the small table and curled my fingers over the back of it while I took a deep breath.

Shaking my head, I gripped it tighter, then threw it at the far wall.

One of the wooden legs snapped, leaving it an angle, barely attached.

My chest rose and fell too rapidly as I became driven by my emotions.

Taking the edge of the table, I flipped it, sending my laptop and a coffee mug onto the floor.

I took a step back and gripped the strands of hair at my scalp.

When that didn’t help, I slammed my palm against the wall.

I made a fist but just stared at the white paint, trying to reason with the beast inside of me that Roman seemed to have a knack for waking up.

At one time, he could also put it to sleep.

A knock almost sent me into a rage, but I heard my dad’s voice call my name. I threw the door open, and his eyes immediately widene d. Shaking my head, I stepped back, but he followed and wrapped me in his arms.

“Oh, Trav.”

“What’s wrong with me?” I cried.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I’m so lost, Dad. I can’t . . . breathe.”

He shushed me and guided me to the bed. Sitting on the edge with me, he tucked my face against his shoulder like I was a child again.

I clutched the back of his shirt with both hands, thinking about the way he’d held on to me in the woods at Dumont.

I hadn’t trusted him then. I told him I hated him, and I’d meant it, which was why I’d never apologized.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked. “You’re just under a lot of stress.”

I shook my head. “You know I love you, right?”

“Of course. I’m so lucky for it.”

“I want to hate him,” I whispered.

He didn’t ask who. He just ran his thumb over the back of my head and let me cry the way a son should be able to with his dad. The way too many never got the chance to experience. The way I did when I first fell apart with him, forever changing our relationship.

Part of me wished none of this had ever happened.

I shouldn’t have talked to Roman at the World Series game in Seattle or looked at his tablet that day.

If that idea about the calendar hadn’t popped into my fucking head, I would’ve walked away and went back home with no regard for the rude stranger I had an awkward conversation with.

I put a hand to my chest and dug my fingers in. He was just one guy.

One day, another man would come along and I’d find everything I needed in him.

Would his smile and the mere sound of his voice make my soul feel at peace? Would I want to sit with him for hours just to watch him create something beautiful from somewhere deep inside of him that he only let me see? Would he laugh in a way that filled every empty space inside of me?

I decided there was nothing I could do tonight. It was already late and I had to be ready for the flight in the morning. We’d head home a nd I could figure everything else out. There was time, so I was going to take some to think.