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Her cheeks are flush with indignant anger on my behalf, and weirdly, that makes some of my melancholy dissipate. “Maybe I should have,” I muse. “But I guess I thought he was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything that was happening felt like my fault, somehow. I guess some part of me thought that maybe everyone really would be better off without me.”
“That’s bullshit,” she practically spits.
I rear back. “What?”
“None of what happened was your fault, Ian. I mean, Christ. Your jackass dad has an affair, completely fucks off from the kid’s life, dumps her on his other kid’s doorstep to care for when it’s convenient for him, then blames you when it all goes to shit?” She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. There’s a villain in this story, Ian, but it isn’t fucking you.”
“Wow,” I say thickly, emotion still clogging my throat. “I’m not sure I deserve the faith you have in me.”
“I just know you,” she says with a slight shake of her head. “I’ve known you since I was six years old. You met me before Jack. Do you remember?” I nod, watching her expression turn wistful. “I was crying at the bus stop because Jack was sick, and I was scared to get on by myself.”
“You were so fucking little,” I murmur. “Just this tiny little thing.”
“You came right up to me, this huge kid with flaming-red hair and freckles looking like some sort of giant, and you squatted right down to my level…and you smiled at me.”
I feel myself smiling now as I remember. “I asked you why you were crying.”
“I told you it was because my brother was sick, and I was scared to sit by myself.” Her smile widens, bright, like it’s shining a light on all the dark parts of me. “Do you remember what you said?”
“I…I told you that there’s no reason to be scared, because you have me now, and I wouldn’t let you sit alone.”
“I know you met Jack when you walked me home, and I know that you became best friends and all that…but I…It always felt like you were mine first. I guess it still does.”
“Lila, I—”
“But from that moment on, I felt better when you were around. I always knew that as long as you were, nothing bad would ever happen to me. Because that’s who you are. For me, for Jack, and for Abby, too, it seems. You spend so much time making sure that everyone else is okay, you don’t take the time to make sure you’re okay. The world won’t end if you’re okay, Ian. You know that, right?”
The warmth in my chest feels stifling; like the kind of heat that steals your breath, that makes it feel a little like dying slowly. I feel so many things, things that seem impossible, that seem too quick, and all of them begin and end with the overwhelming urge to hold her, so I give in to that feeling, I pull her from her chair and over into mine, letting her crawl into my lap as I wrap my arms around her like she’s tethering me—and in a way, it feels like she is.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I manage thickly. “It feels like I’m trapped. Like no matter what I do, someone will eventually end up being hurt.”
“You can’t put that on yourself,” Lila soothes. “You love hard, Ian. You always have. Anyone who knows you will know that you would never hurt someone you care about on purpose. You have to try and give yourself the same care you give everyone else.”
I consider that, trying to remember a time in my life where I did what she’s saying. When I worried more about myself than those around me. I realize I can’t think of one. I’ve spent so long carrying different weights, holding them on my shoulders until it felt like I might be crushed…I don’t even know what putting myself first would look like.
“I’ve never told anyone else but Jack about my dad’s part in my leaving,” I admit quietly.
She runs her fingers through my hair. “I’m glad you told me.”
We’re quiet for a moment; I’m letting her words marinate and she seems content to let me, and when she finally speaks, it’s with a soft kiss to my temple. “Not sure my kitchen chairs are built for me and an NHL player.”
“I’ll get you stronger chairs,” I mumble into her hair.
“Wow, we had sex one time and he’s already trying to buy me chairs,” she tuts. “You’re smothering me.”
“Two times,” I huff against her throat.
“Mm. Two is the magic number for chair sugar daddies?”
I laugh as I give her ass a light swat. “Brat.”
“You like it.” She pulls back, her arms still looped around my neck and her eyes glittering with amusement. “Thank you,” she says sincerely. “For telling me.”
“I wanted to,” I assert. “I…I trust you too.”
