Page 51 of Falling Into Forever
“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger. “You’re not a this. You’re you, and you’re even more beautiful and amazing than you were when we first met. Second.” Up goes another finger. “Yes, I do have a niece to think about. She will never be an afterthought. Third.” He holds three fingers out in front of himself. “California was my exile, and I’m ready to come home. Fourth.” He stalks closer with his fingers raised. “It crushes my heart to know how bad your attacks are and that you struggle alone sometimes.”
He stops an inch away from my knees, and my legs separate automatically, like they’ve been waiting for him. Dante’s hands land on my thighs as he slides between them, and his thumbs gently pass over my skin in a soothing rhythm.
“And I really hate that I haven’t been here for all your dark days, but the threat of ones in the future will not scare me away.”
“You don’t even know me anymore,” I say.
“I’m going to, though.”
“Ugh.” I exhale a harsh breath that pushes my hair off my forehead. “I need you to listen to me. You don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t know what—”
“Then tell me. Talk to me. Teach me.”
My palms land on his chest, and I take a second to soak in the comfort that simple touch brings, then sadly push him away. He moves back, and I slip off the island. Walking around it, I put some distance between us.
“I don’t like people…”
“You never did.”
“I have manic moments, usually when I’m writing, when I can’t focus on anything, and other times when I’m so focused, I don’t see anything else.”
He doesn’t say anything, and my heart spasms in my chest. People say they understand and can be compassionate for invisible pains, but I’ve experienced it firsthand—it rarely works out that way.
“You saw my panic attack. What you didn’t see are my bad days. The days when I don’t get out of bed until Ainsley or Grady come roll me out and force me to shower or get fresh air.”
The muscle in his jaw bunches at the mention of Grady, but he wants the truth. This is my truth.
“I don’t want to be like that, Dante. I don’t. But there are days when I’m powerless to it. People call it lazy or entitled. But it’s not a choice.”
The emotion that clouds his eyes steals all the air in my lungs.
“Do you have those a lot?” he asks with so much concern that tears burn the back of my throat.
How the heck do I have any tears left?
A rush of irritation shoots up my spine like a rollercoaster, and I have no idea where it comes from, but I’m shocked when it sits at my shoulders instead of finding release with sharp words or a bitter tone.
What’s more, I’m aware of the change. Usually, my snark has a mind of its own.
The base of my neck itches, and I contort my face into a frown. “Not anymore,” I say in a rush that sounds like a confession. “But I do, sometimes.”
“So, sometimes we’ll deal with it.”
Shaking my head, I turn away from him and grab a new mug. I take my time pouring a cup of coffee, and when I face him again, I’m ready to tell him what he’s been avoiding.
“So, what are you going to do? Change your entire life and move back here? See if we work out? You’re not being practical, Dante.”
“That’s exactly what I’ll do. Or I’ll go back and forth until we figure it out. No matter what you say, you won’t scare me off again.”
Challenge. Accepted.
Placing my mug back on the counter, I inhale deeply and deliver the final blow.
“Is someone who’s cranky, unfeeling, has no control over her mouth, and is known to have horrible, debilitating anxiety with bouts of serious depression someone you want to have an influence on your niece?”
His face falls, and I don’t have to continue. We’re done. It’s what I wanted, right? So why does my heart choose this moment to jackhammer against my ribs?
Dante’s neck muscles flex, but his face is doing something else. Is he…? Are his eyes laughing at me?
