Page 50 of The Deals We Make

And it’s the truth—the only real forgiveness I feel I need to give myself is for being too foolish and too naive by trusting anyone else. If I hadn’t told Ti what I was planning to do, I would have gotten away with it.

Just like I did when I fleeced the Yakuza over an eight-month period.

But none of it fills the hole in my chest that aches right now.

How can you have friends but still feel lonely?

How can you have more money than a person needs and still feel lacking?

How can you appear so successful to the rest of the world, and yet feel like a failure inside?

“Hey, Cal.” There’s a knock on the door, and then it opens slightly. Just his hand appears through the doorway with a pair of joggers and a T-shirt balanced on the palm. “Thought you might want something soft and warm for when you’re done.”

It’s a simple kindness, and yet I feel a touch undeserving. And I must be nearing my period for me to feel so pathetically melancholy.

Where the hell is your backbone?

The door pushes open, and Vex…Ti appears around it. “You okay?”

I jump up and brush myself off figuratively. “No. Fine. Yes. It’s all good.”

He puts the clothes down on the vanity, then tugs me into his arms. I barely have time to process it before I’m wrapped up in him. My forehead barely reaches his pec, but he tucks my ear against his heart and holds me close.

He smells good, his body so firm and warm up against mine.

Something stings my cheek, and it takes a moment for me to realize I’m crying. I bite down on my lip, swallow hard, even blow out a breath.

“It’s okay to cry, Calista. Tears don’t make you any less strong.”

Somehow his words turn on the internal tap to my tear ducts, because I begin to cry uncontrollably. Ugly, gulping sobs that embarrass me, but I can’t seem to stop.

I cry for the stress I’ve been under at work. I cry out of fear for the stalker who is still lurking. I cry for my mom and what she’s facing. I cry that I’ll never get the relationship with her that I once prayed for. I cry for what happened to me and Ti then, and for the mess that we are now.

And all the while, Ti holds me, his large hands rubbing circles on my back as he whispers words of comfort. “Let it all out, sweetheart.”

It’s a completely foreign concept, to think that he wasn’t responsible in the way I thought. But he’s so intricately linked to those who hurt me that I don’t know how to move past it.

Breathing becomes difficult. I suck in air.

And, oh my God, why am I being so pathetic, making this all about me? It’s painfully self-indulgent, yet I can’t stop.

Ti picks me up and sits me on the vanity before pulling me even closer. With him settled between my thighs, my body lights up in contrast to the hurt pouring out of me. I keep my head on his shoulder, and he kisses the top of my head gently as he soothes me.

God, there was a time when I would have done absolutely anything to be in this position with this man. To be securely wrapped up in his arms. To be the center of his universe. I think about the letter I wrote two days before it all went down, the one where I explained I’d fallen in love with my best friend.

A group of girls had been mean to me. Calling me a geek and making fun of the test I’d aced. Ti had stepped between us and told the girls I was going to be someone one day. The concept ofone dayhad stuck with me. Ti and me. Living together. Building a life.

And when they’d gone, he’d hugged me and made sure I was okay.

He was the only person after my dad who made me feel safe.

And I realized I loved him in every way a young heart could.

I’d written the letter to ask him if he’d like to try being more. I wrote it rather than saying it because Ti took in information better when he read it, and I tended to ramble when I was nervous. The letter also explained that if he didn’t, I’d settle for friendship because I didn’t want to lose him in my life.

But I hadn’t had the courage to give it to him.

Instead, I’d burned it somewhere en route from Jersey to California.