Page 106 of The Weight Of Falling
“Then what is it?” I ask, and I hate that my voice catches. “Because I’m tired, Joel. I’m tired of the unsaid things hovering between us. I’m tired of you not trusting me.”
“Can we talk inside?” he asks. “Please. I don’t want to do this on your porch.”
Part of me wants to close the door and spare myself another hit today. The other part wants answers, and he’s the only one who can give them to me.
I step aside and he walks in.
In the entryway, we face each other. He reaches for me, but I step back, my palm up. “Please don’t touch me right now,” I whisper. “We need to talk and if you touch me, I’ll crumble.” I swallow. “Then we won’t say what needs saying.”
He nods, his arm dropping to his side. “Okay.”
We move to the living room. He pauses by Turbo’s bed, smoothing a hand over his head, then takes the chair opposite mine.
I decide to go straight for it. “You have foster parents,” I say.
“I do.”
“Foster parents you never told me about.”
He drags a hand through his hair. “You saw how awkward it was with them. That’s why. We don’t have the best relationship. But I should have introduced you properly the second you walked up. I shut down instead and made you feel small. You deserved better, and I’m sorry.”
“Why did you shut down?”
He looks at the carpet, then back at me. “Because I feel ashamed of the person I am around them.”
At last, we’re inching toward the thing that matters. I take a deep breath. “Why are they afraid of you? Why did Gaby stiffen when you touched her? Why did they warn me to keep Turbo away from you?”
Silence expands between us, full of all the things we could build if weren’t afraid of the weight.
He starts to speak, then stops, and the hesitation lands like a crack across my chest. For the past few weeks, I’ve tried to be patient. I haven’t pushed. I’ve given him space and told myself he’ll talk when he’s ready. I’ve reminded myself he’s worked with Kate for years and still hasn’t told her. He’s only known me a month. I can’t expect him to set everything at my feet. But we’re in a relationship, and I don’t see how we survive unless we startbeing honest with each other. Unless he starts trusting me with the truth.
I push past my nerves and choose truth over tact. “Joel, someone I trust saw you go into a building where they hold AA meetings. Is that what you’re fighting?”
He stills, his guarded expression transforming into one of disbelief. “You think I’m an alcoholic?”
I simply nod because my throat is too tight for me to say anything else.
His eyes flash with something I can’t fully identify. It’s not anger or acceptance. It’s not indignation either. “You think I’m easing my loneliness in a bottle? Escaping my demons by drinking?”
My voice gentles. “It’s okay to admit it. You can talk to me. I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, because I don’t, but I’m prepared to walk beside you—”
“Kenzie,” he breaks in firmly, “I’m not an alcoholic. I’ve never struggled with alcohol.”
“But...you don’t drink.”
His features tighten. “I don’t drink because the man I can’t stand did and I avoid anything that reminds me of him.”
“Then why were you in the building?”
“I was there to see my therapist.”
“A therapist?”
“Yes. I only started seeing her recently.”
“How recently?” I ask in a whisper.
He holds my gaze. “Two days after you kissed me in that storeroom.”
