Page 49 of If You Say So

“What happened to us, Blake?”

“Nothing.”

“Then where did I go wrong? When did we stop being us? When did we stop talking? Stop turning to one another when we needed help?”

I collapse back onto the bed, expelling a heavy breath. I cover my eyes with the heels of my hands and press hard, trying to push away the overwhelming worry that’s starting to settle in my chest.

“It wasn’t you.”

“Are you trying to be all cliché on me?It’s not you, it’s metype shit?”

“Not on purpose. I’m serious when I say it wasn’t you.”

He rests back on the bed next to me, adjusting himself until he’s on his side, propping his head up on his hand and staring down at me. “Explain.”

“It was…”

When I don’t respond, don’t move for several moments, he reaches out and lays a hand on my stomach. His fingertips dance over my skin, and I missed his touch so fucking much.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says reassuringly.

“I do. Youneedto know.”

“Well then you don’t have to tell me tonight. Whatever is easiest for you, whenever you’re ready.”

“That’s the thing—Iamready. I’m just so fucking scared you’ll never look at me the same again.”

I feel his hand on my face, titling my view his way. “There is nothing—not a single fucking thing—that will make me look at you like you’re anything less.”

“I…” I lick my lips, ready to voice out loud what the doctor told me. “I was diagnosed with depression a couple months ago.”

I brace myself, waiting for the look of pity or disbelief. TheIt’ll get betteror theYou’re just going through somethingphrases.

But I don’t get any of that.

Instead, the love shining in Nate’s eyes is almost blinding. The way he’s looking at me is almost breaking my heart, in the best way possible.

“You said diagnosed. Does that mean…”

I nod. “Yeah, I saw a doctor shortly after we broke up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed help.”

“And now?”

A flash of embarrassment stings me, but I quickly remind myself there is nothing wrong with seeking professional helportalking through your feelings with someone else.

“I’m in therapy.”

His lips tilt up at the corners at my answer.

“What?” I push.

“It’s nothing. I’m just…I’m proud of you, you know. Reaching out and getting help is a big deal, especially for you. That’s not who you are at all. I’m happy you did.”

“Th-Thank you.”

He lies down on his back, and we stay planted in the same position for so long that I fear he may have fallen asleep.

“Nate?”

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