Page 69 of No More Bad Boys
Keeping up my stoic stare isn’t easy. Not with him baring his soul across the table. I wish he would stop, but if I open my mouth, if I move an inch, I’m going to cry and give in.
“You want to hear about… how I’ve never wanted to need anyone in my life? Because the person Ididneed—the one I depended on—wasn’t there for me? I’ve got a whole closet of therapy journals. You can read them all. You can ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.”
He swallows and takes a breath before continuing. His voice is ragged now, and its sharp edges are ripping off little pieces of my heart.
“The biggest truth is that I needyou. That scares the shit out of me to admit—but it’s true. I finally let myself need someone, love someone to the point that you can hurt me worse than my no-good drunk mother ever did.”
Oh God. This is terrible. I want to climb over the tabletop and plaster myself to him.
But I promised myselfnever again. I do love him. I do need him, too.
But I don’twantto need someone I’m not sure of. Someone with the power to hurt me with a lie the way Blake has already done.
The way Momma did my whole life.
I can’tknowthat he won’t do it again. When I put logic on one side of the risk scale and my heart on the other… there’s no contest.
Logic is heavier.
I’m tempted to lean on the other side, to cheat and make the scale at least even out… but I decide to go with what I know—with what’s always worked for me before.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t do it anymore.”
Blake sits perfectly still for a moment, staring at me, letting the words sink in. Maybe making sure I mean them.
And then he slides out of the booth and walks away, leaving me with half a greasy deep-dish pie and a broken heart.
Thanks, logic. You’re a real pal.
SIXTEEN
Salvage Operation
For the rest of the week there are no knocks at the engineering room door.
I stay away from the newsroom as much as possible, and Blake stays away from me. I keep thinking this is going to get easier, but so far it just keeps getting worse.
I may have made a sensible decision, but good sense isn’t much comfort when I’m crying myself to sleep every night, missing him, missing my sister, missing having a heart that actually feels things instead of simply clicking mechanically along like some sort of clockwork device.
Even Frank’s friendly presence at work and my ever-faithful Enterprise crew are no match for the misery that’s overtaking me. I can’t even study for my classes—it’s hard to care about thermodynamics when my entire future looks like a black hole.
Friday is another one of Frank’s phase-out days, so I’m in the engineering department alone when the phone rings.
“Hello.”
“Um, Cadence? It’s Alissa at the desk. Are you sick? You sound like Hell.”
“No. I’m fine. What is it?”
“Well, bite my head off. Okay, well, there’s this lady here to consult on the new set design, and she has some questions about lighting placement and, like, electrical stuff. So since Frank’s off today, they need you in the studio.”
“All right.” I groan, reluctant to leave my safe little dungeon. “Tell them I’ll be right up.”
I trudge upstairs and toward the studio, avoiding the newsroom.
When I step into the studio, I don’t recognize the set designer at first—the woman’s off in a corner, conversing with two of the carpenters who’ve been working in here for the past week tearing out our old news set, and their much-larger figures are blocking her face from my view.
Then one of them steps away, and I see… “Whitney?” My voice sounds strangled. “What are you doing here?”
