Page 63 of Unraveling with You

“Are you sure it’s okay?” I grunt through my fifth rep.

“I’ll check it after. You’ve totally got this. I’ll just give you a tiny boost for the last one.”

With his hands on my waist, Remington boosts me just enough to be able to do a sixth pull-up. I hop from the bar with a bright smile, excited for Remington’s glomping, celebratory hugs.

He laughs, giving me an extra squeeze. “I’m so fucking proud of you!”

“Thank you,” I huff. “I couldn’t do this without you. Like so many things.”

His wide grin lifts my heart. “Same for me, baby girl. Same for me.”

While I guzzle down water, Remington digs his phone out of his gym bag. But when he grips the back of his neck, I freeze. His back tenses beneath his soaked gray T-shirt, kickstarting my heart.

“Rem? What’s wrong?”

Before I can rush to his side, Remington buries his eyes into his forearm, hitching out a sob. My heart drops. I’ve never seen him so upset. I rub his back, but he walks in a circle, glancing around us like someone might be watching.

“Come here,” I whisper, guiding him to a more private corner where the mirror ends.

Squatting behind a weight rack, Remington lifts his shirt collar over his nose, rubbing his eyes with the fabric. “Sorry, I haven't cried over this in a long time.”

“You’re okay - just keep breathing, okay? Can I see the text?”

Keeping his eyes hidden in his shirt, Remington passes me his phone.

Natalia:I tried to call but I don’t want you to have to pick up the phone to hear it from anyone else. Uncle Ernesto died.

My stomach drops. “Oh, God, Rem, I’m so sorry... Were you close to him?”

He flinches. Sitting unmoving for a whole minute, Remington stares into the distance - even as I vigorously rub his back and arms, whispering his name and reassurances.

Until Remington stands, striding to his gym bag. “I need to go home.”

I chase after him, close behind. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I need to be with you, alone. I’m panicking, hardcore.”

I knew he was gravely upset, but he’s right; I’ve never seen every muscle in his body so taut and his forehead so strained. And after knowing him intimately, I’ve also had many chances to recognize that his anxiety shows up as silence.

Rushing to the parking lot, I keep my arm around his waist. “We’re almost to the car.”

He nods.

What do I even do? Am I making this worse for him? Missing something that could be helping him?

Focus, Lilibeth. This isn’t about me; it’s about Remington. I open the passenger door of Remington’s car, and he glances at me as he steps in. “Sorry.”

I lean in after him as he puts his seatbelt on, sorting his sweaty hair over his forehead. “Please, don’t be sorry. I'm here for you too, baby. Okay?”

He warps back into tears, shredding my heart.

I give him as big of a hug as I can. “Rem, I'm so sorry you're hurting. I wish I could take it away, but I know I can’t.”

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He doesn't say anything else the whole drive home. I cling tighter to the steering wheel, unable to stop checking on Remington in my peripherals. But by the time we’re a block from his apartment, Remington closes his eyes, slackening into his seat.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

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