Page 125 of Built to Fall
“I’m not calculated,” I reply, even though it may not be entirely true. I’m positive there are at least acouplecalculated bones in my body. “I’m practical. There’s a difference.”
We make it back to the BMW, all of us shivering despite our coats. I catch myself when I nearly slip on a patch of ice near the car door.
Kara slides into the passenger seat, and Eden slides into the backseat alongside me, saying, “Okay, Miss Practical. Walk us through it.”
I set the champagne bag beside me and buckle my seatbelt. “Alright. Option one—I take him up on it. There’s chemistry, we’re comfortable, and I trust him. Odds of a good outcome:high.”
Meredith starts the car, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “And option two?”
“Option two—I don’t. I wait it out, risk the tension getting worse, and maybe lose the window altogether. Which would be fine, except I’d always wonder.”
Would it be fine, though? Would I ever trust someone in the way I trust Grant?
It’s the part giving me the most trouble because I’m not sure whether there’s a sensible conclusion. I won’t know unless I choose one of my options. It’s not what I’m used to.
Normally, I’m looking at situations with a more controlled mindset. Like some kind of data set with variables and consistency.
Emotions don’t provide that kind of insight.
And with Grant, the stakes feel higher than I ever could have imagined them to be.
Kara turns around in her seat, smirking. “So what’s stopping you?”
“Timing,” I say. “And whether I’m okay with changing the entire dynamic for something that might only exist for a moment.”
Eden whistles low. “You really don’t do things unless you’ve weighed every variable, do you?”
“No,” I admit. “That’s the point. I don’t want to make rash decisions. I want to make sure this makes sense.”
“And does this?” Meredith asks.
“That’s what I’m figuring out.” I exhale, watching my breath fog the window.
There’s a beat of silence before Kara says, “Are you sure this doesn’t have anything to do with Gage?”
She’s watching me, waiting for something deeper than a deflection. And for once, I don’t feel like performing.
Staring out the window for a second, I watch the frost build along the edges of the glass. Then I say it—flat, like I’m reciting someone else’s story.
“It wasn’t just that he cheated.”
Three heads turn toward me at once, the sudden quiet louder than the music still playing softly through the speakers.
“It was with my best friend from high school. And it happened in my bedroom. During my mom’s wake.” I speak the details as cold, hard facts. Because that’s what they are.
No one speaks. Not immediately.
Eden’s mouth parts, like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
Kara blinks, her entire body frozen halfway between turning around and sitting forward again.
Meredith must let her foot off the gas, because the car begins to slow as the smallest amount of concern passes over her features.
I don’t look at any of them. I don’t need to. I know what’s on their faces—shock, horror, maybe pity. It’s why I’ve never toldthem before. It’s why I learned to say it like it doesn’t mean anything.
Because if I let the emotion in, I might never come back from it.
“So yeah,” I say, voice quiet but steady. “Grant doesn’t feel like amaybe. He feels like the only person who didn’t make me feel smaller after everything and figured out how to put me together again. And that’s a lot to risk screwing up.”
