Page 90 of There's Pumpkin About You
“What?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“She would come back.”
I hate that my brothers are making so much sense. I hate that now I feel like an asshole for panicking and making Wren validate my abandonment issues.
“It’s not just about whether or not she’d stay,” I tell them sheepishly, letting the axe fall to the floor.
“What’s it about then?”
I take a deep breath, letting my fingers pull my hair away from my face. The weight of my emotions heavy on my mind.
“I’ve never loved anyone before. Not romantically. But I have connected with people before and it’s… messy. I depend on them and I know that if I depend on Wren and she does decide to go then I’ll break. I’ll fall apart because I do love her and I’m afraid that I’ll love her because I need her.”
With my admission comes a realization; one that makes the world stop in its tracks as I come to terms with my own idiocy.
I could have just spoken to her, voiced my concerns just like we had agreed to do before the party started, but the more I sat there, watching Wren make friends and form connections, the more I began to panic. I started to think to myself how much Wren shines in a world that, to me, can be so dark, and how with that would come opportunities for her; opportunities that will never find their way to me because I don’t shine the way she does.
Yes, I’m terrified of her leaving me—so much so that I added meaning to her answers that I never knew for sure was there. But, deep down, I’m also terrified that I’ll mess this up. More than I already have, I suppose.
“Gus, you need to realize that at the end of the day, the right people will stay and the ones who don’t deserve you will go, and that it’s okay to let them go. If you connect with her then do it. Relationships aren’t perfect, but if you talk to one another and actually voice your concerns, then boom: you’ll still argue and not like one another some days, but the love won’t go.”
“Plus, from what we’ve seen, the two of you have the arguing thing down,” Sam laughs.
I let out a wry chuckle because he’s right. Arguing is something we seem to have perfected. Now it’s time to perfect being vulnerable.
Wren did the one thing that I wanted someone to do for me—accept me, and I pushed her away for it, all because I’m scared to love someone. I’m scared to be someone who is vulnerable with another knowing I can get my heart broken.
My brothers walk away whilst I continue to sit here, wondering what the hell I’ve done.
ChapterForty
WREN
Gus stands in the middle of the field, axe in hand. His hat sits atop his head, keeping the sun out of his brown eyes. With his now free arm, he lifts the axe above his head, letting it fall and expertly cut through a block of wood. He looks disheartened, feet shuffling on the dirt before he chops another block.
I sneak over to the barn beside him, making a show of leaning against the side of the building.
“Is it better to scare you when the axe is up, or when it’s down like it is now?”
Gus almost drops the axe as he spins around.
He looks tired. Exhausted, actually, as if he hasn’t slept in days, and I can bet you that I look the same because neither have I. Dark bags sit under his brown eyes, his usual stubble now a full beard that makes him look older. He still looks gorgeous to me, and seeing his face now makes my heart ache for him all the more. The t-shirt he wears underneath his plaid shirt is gone, allowing for me to ogle at the sight of his bare torso peeking out underneath his unbuttoned shirt.
“Down, got it,” I say as I push off the barn. “Oil burns can be fixed, but I don’t know how good Doctor Shakari is at sewing on toes.”
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“Beckford,” I answer simply.
He rolls his eyes, going back to the wood in front of him. He raises his arms, axe in hand, but hesitates. He lowers his head and I see it shake. I see his shoulders lower as the breath leaves him, most likely in the form of a frustrated sigh. He slowly lowers the axe, letting it fall to the floor before turning to me once more.
“I was going to come and see you, but…” he lets the end of his sentence drift off.
“I know.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“I know.”
