Page 94 of The Worst Kind of Promise
God, I missed being able to touch her. Being able tofeelher.
“He just needs some time,” I tell her, wishing we could both escape this mess, that I could ensconce her away from all of this heartache. I wind my fingers around a chestnut ringlet of her hair, rubbing the follicle between my coarse pads.
She doesn’t inch away from me, but she doesn’t lean into me, either.
“He’ll never forgive me,” she cries through choppy breaths, looking at me through water-encrusted lashes.
“He will, Faye. You didn’t do anything wrong.” It doesn’t matter what I say. I think it’s impossible for her to believe me, and not for my lack of trying. Faye’s always been hardest on herself. She’s the kind of person who’ll break her own bones to fit someone else’s mold of her—one they created from a single, surface-level interaction. The complete opposite of who I used to be. And it’s not just some random person she thinks she’s disappointing. It’s her brother.
She fully sits up, pressing her back to the headboard, the sheets trickling down to her waist. “He thinks I’m…I’m…”
She doesn’t want to say it. And she doesn’t need to. I know what word she’s going to use, because this whole summer, she’s brought it up multiple times to me. The worst part? She’s only ever associated it with a negative connotation. She uses it as a way to devalue herself.
I cut her off. “He doesn’t.”
She begins to bawl, her shoulders racking from the chest-deep emotion, and the helpless whine in her voice throws ice water down my back. It chills me to the core, slows the tempo of my heart, and usurps the confidence I had coming into this conversation.
“…broken!”
I can tell she’s close to pulling away, to hiding back underneath the covers, but I don’t let her.
“We’re all broken, Princess,” I confess, reaching out to grab her hand, silently rejoicing when she allows me to thread my fingers through hers. “And out of all of us, you’re the least broken one there is.”
Sadness splays across her features, puckering her forehead and widening those doe eyes of hers. “B-but you’re not broken,” she sniffles.
I chuff out a laugh. “I was—I still am—but you fixed that part of me. You showed me what it means to be loved. You patched those empty holes inside of me with your compassion, your selflessness, your generosity. You’ve given my heart a reason to beat. Nothing can compare to being loved by someone as incredible as you. People wait decades to find their other half, and some go their whole life without ever meeting them. But by some miracle, which I definitely never deserved,youfound your way tome.”
Apparently, I’m worse at cheering her up than I thought, because Faye’s wails dial up in volume, bouncing off the walls like we’re in an echo chamber. I wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the guys could hear what’s going on in here.
“Oh, God. Why would you say that?” Rivers of tears now decorate her pink cheeks, mangling the clarity of her words.
I—what?
“What? What did I say?”
She weakly thwaps me on the arm. “You’re being too…nice…to me!”
I wag my head, unable to help the chuckle rumbling in my chest. “Just for the record, I’malwaysnice to you.”
A small smile toys with the corner of her lips, and although she doesn’t give me a laugh, that’s a fucking win in my book. Her tears seem to be falling a little less frequently now, getting wiped away left and right by her forearm.
“What if he s-sees me differently?” she asks shakily.
“He will see you differently,” I say with candor, love corkscrewing into the very depths of my heart, implanting itself there for all eternity. “He’ll see how muchstrongeryou’ve become.”
Faye catches me off guard—and a little off balance—when she wraps her arms around me, nestling her nose into my neck. Faye’s hugs are some of my favorite things in the universe, but this one feels different. Better than all the ones in the past, if that’s even possible.
If she wasn’t directly by my ear, I may not have heard her.
“Thank you for always being there, Kit.”
I squeeze her back in my arms, careful to mind the fragile state of her body. “Nothing in this world could keep me away from you, Princess.”
I’m in her embrace for so long that I’d know the feel of her arms out of hundreds of blind hugs, that I could successfully pick out that peach scent of hers in a large, faceless crowd. When we eventually disentangle ourselves, I push the tray toward her.
“Sit back. Let me feed you,” I coax.
She does as I say, just with an additional eyebrow raise. “It’s a sandwich.”
