Page 143 of Built to Fall
“It wasn’t your fault,” I tell him, my voice stern. “She wassick,Grant, and addiction isn’t something you can control. You didn’t make her choices for her. You were just a kid, trying to hold on to whatever you could. You can’t carry that guilt with you—it wasn’t on you.” I pause, wiping the tears from his cheeks like he had done for me a few weeks back.
This isn’t exactly how I expected this night to go, and yet I’m completely immersed in the conversation. I want to prove myself to him in a way that shows I’m not going to up and leave him.
We stay pressed close, breathing the same air, hearts pounding in quiet synchronicity. His tears slow, but his eyes remain locked on mine, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he blinks.
“I don’t know how to let people in without preparing for the fallout,” he admits. “I’msosorry. I don’t know how I could live my life normally while also loving someonethat much.It drives me crazy, Lina, needing to know everyone’s okay, feeling the need to control and prevent—to keep them safe. If something happened, I wouldn’t be able to stop blaming myself.”
I know he wants my honesty, which is why I say, “I don’t think anybody jumps into a relationship without preparing for the fallout to some degree.” When he doesn’t seem like he fully believes me, I add, “I mean, my ex-boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend at my mom’s wake, and here I am, scared to have sex because of it.” I let out a single self-deprecating laugh, and Grant kisses my temple.
This isn’t supposed to be about me.
“No matter the circumstances,anyonewho has been hurt is scared of it happening again. But we don’t stop living because of it; we just learn to live with the fear and choose people who make it worth it.”
We’re no longer leaning into each other out of passion, but out of solace. As the night wraps around us, the stillness feels like a secret etched into our hearts, one that neither of us will be letting go of.
“Will you stay here tonight?” Grant whispers in the darkness. His lips are so close to my ear that it gives me goosebumps, and I know he notices because of the short chuckle he lets out before he rubs his warm hands up and down my arms in quick succession. “I doubt you’ve been sleeping well.” He pauses before adding, “And honestly? I haven’t been either.”
I nod, sinking further into his embrace. At that moment, I see something in his expression flicker, and it feels like the first glimpse I’ve gotten beyond the looking glass of his heart.
And despite the somberness of the conversation at hand, it fills me with joy. It’s the first time I feel like I maybe have a chance at him choosing me, choosing to allow me to make it worth it.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
LINA
Ihave a good feeling that walking into a cafe for lunch with a certain platinum blonde-haired girl is going to get campus talking.
But I’ve never been one to care about the public speculation of a bunch of college kids, especially when it’s to be expected. I’ve been seen numerous times around campus with the one and only football prodigy—the one I was in articles with involving a fake pregnancy scandal, and then again a few nights ago when people saw us at Sal’s Diner.
Savannah, however, is an even bigger deal than Grant. Peopleloveseeing her around. What she’s wearing, what she might be working on next.
She’s a complete wonder to a majority of people on campus. Either that or they paint her as some kind of ice queen, jealous of her for hooking up with Grant.
“Is your hair naturally that color?” I ask as we take a seat near the back of the August & Ivy cafe.
It’s the first thing everyone notices about Savannah and likely the last thing people forget. It’s the kind of white-blonde that looks otherworldly—ethereal, even—but somehow not fake. Not bleached within an inch of its life.
No one would ever think it possible that colored hair could be natural. The only reason I suspect it is because I’ve never once seen her hair with a shadow of an imperfect root.
Then again, that could be a testament to the luxe lifestyle she ascribes to, given the family she comes from.
“Yup,” she answers as she grabs a menu. “I’m pretty sure there’s like a two percent chance of people being born with this hair color. I just happen to be one of the lucky ones!” Her voice is filled with fake enthusiasm, and from what she told me in the stadium, I assume she doesn’t prefer her hair this way.
“I think it’s beautiful,” I tell her with the utmost honesty.
She gives me a skeptical look. “The only reason people say that is because they’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“That’s usually what makes things beautiful, don’t you think?”
I think about Eden—how much she loves the uniqueness of her red hair. I thought maybe Savannah would feel the same.
Savannah brushes the topic of conversation over her shoulder. “Not really. Most of the time it just makes for a lot of attention.”
“Savannah, you don’t just turn heads because of your hair.”
Like she said in the stadium, yes, her hair is practically designed to draw attention. But that doesn’t mean it’s the only standout thing about her.
When our coffees are called out, we stand to grab them before retreating back to our table.
