Page 117 of Faking All the Way
“I was talking to a friend one night, pouring my heart out about this wonderful man who kept pursuing me and how I couldn’t let myself have him. And she looked at me and said, ‘Beverly, you’re going to regret this for the rest of your life if you let him go because you’re scared.’ And she was right.” My grandmother huffs a little laugh, her voice turning fond. “If I’d let that fear win, I never would have known the life we shared. The children we had, the grandchildren. The home we built together, the memories we made. All of it would have been lost because I was too scared to believe I was worthy of being loved.”
I swallow, staring down at the Christmas cookies as I try to process her words. I’ve always been close with my grandmother,but she’s never shared this particular story with me, never shared these vulnerabilities.
“Love lifts you up,” she continues with a firm nod. “Your grandfather never once made me feel less than. Not once in all our years together, even when his family made snide comments or his friends looked down their noses at me. He defended me, stood by me, made it clear I was his choice and he was proud of it. That’s how we ended up in Maplewood. He adapted his life around what mattered to me instead of expecting me to change everything about myself to fit his world. That’s what real love looks like.”
She looks at me intently, ducking her head a little to meet my gaze. “Now, I don’t know what all happened between you and Asher. That’s your business, and no one can truly know a relationship except the two people in it. But whether it’s with him or someone else, you deserve what I had. Someone who will lift you up and see your worth. Who makes you feel like you’re enough exactly as you are. No matter what the outside world thinks.”
Memories rise in my mind unbidden. How Asher defended me when Daniel showed up at the cabin. How proud he seemed to be when I got that book deal, as if my success was his success too. The way he looked at me when I talked about my art, like he was really listening. Really seeing me, not just humoring me.
“He did make me feel special,” I admit softly, the words barely audible.
Beverly squeezes my hand. “Well, that’s because youarespecial, sweetheart.”
The tears come again, but they’re different this time. Not just heartache, but something more confused, a tangle of emotions I can’t sort through. I’m trying to figure out which parts of our relationship were real and which were just for show. Trying tosee it clearly, to understand what we actually had versus what I imagined we had.
But it’s so hard when everything is clouded by hurt, and that confusion makes me scared to take the leap, scared to let myself believe we could overcome the real challenges of life when the whole basis of our relationship was fake.
My grandmother scoots closer on the couch, wiping my cheeks before smoothing my hair.
“No matter what happens with Asher, no matter how this all turns out, I’m so glad you came to Maplewood for a long visit this year,” she tells me. “It’s been wonderful to see you, to spend this time with you.”
“I love you, Grandma,” I whisper, my voice thick.
“I love you too, sweet girl. So much.”
After a while, when my tears have slowed and I’ve eaten two cookies without really tasting them, I tell her I should probably get back. My grandmother walks me out to the door, and we hug again, longer this time. Then I walk to my car, the snow crunching under my boots.
I get into my old beater, and the engine struggles to life with that grinding sound it always makes in cold weather. The noise immediately makes me think of Asher teasing me about it, calling it a death trap and offering to look under the hood.Everythingmakes me think of him, every small thing a reminder of what I lost.
I sit there for a moment with my hands on the wheel, gazing through the slightly smeared windshield.
I don’t know if she’s right. I don’t know if Asher and I could ever overcome the vast differences between our lives, between his world and mine, or the expectations that come with being a professional athlete’s partner.
But as I pull onto the road with my grandmother’s words echoing in my head, I feel better than I did this morning. Mychest still feels tight, but for the first time in three days, it feels a little less suffocating.
Chapter Forty-Two
Asher
I frown as I sort through a box of old knickknacks and photos—dusty stuff that probably hasn’t been thought of once since my dad brought it down to store it in his basement. I’ve been at his place a lot over the past three days, needing to stay busy. Needing to distract myself from the constant ache in my chest that won’t go away no matter what I do.
I’ve kept up with the bare minimum of what I need to do for my upcoming contract. Had a few calls with Aces staff about training schedules and team meetings. Talked to my agent about logistics and timelines, about when I need to be in Denver. But I can barely eat or sleep. My stomach is in a constant knot that makes it hard to get anything down, and when I do manage to force something down, it just sits there like a rock, making me feel sick.
I glance at my wrist, where I’ve got the hair tie I found in my jacket pocket. The one Kat was wearing that day we went skating, the one she took off and I shoved into my pocket without thinking. I found it the other day while looking for mykeys and slipped it on without really thinking about it. Just wanting some part of her close to me.
But it’s not enough. It’s just a piece of elastic and fabric. It’s not the real thing.
It’s not Kat.
I keep going through the box of photos, my hands moving on autopilot while my mind is elsewhere. Then I come across some from a long time ago. Pictures of me and my mom and my dad. All three of us together, smiling at the camera like we’re a normal, happy family. Me as a little kid, maybe six or seven. Gap-toothed grin, messy hair. Before everything fell apart and our family imploded.
I go still, looking down at them. A mess of emotions jumbles up inside me that I don’t know how to sort through. Anger at what was lost. Sadness for that kid who didn’t know what was coming. Confusion about who to blame. Loss for the years that could have been different. All of it tangled together until I can’t tell where one feeling ends and another begins.
I stare for a long time, frozen in place with the photos in my hands. Not really seeing the basement around me anymore. Just lost in memories and what ifs.
My dad’s voice startles me out of it. “You haven’t moved in several minutes.”
I look up to find him watching me from the bottom of the stairs. Murphy is winding around his legs, meowing for attention. There’s concern on my dad’s face, his brows furrowed.
