Page 102 of Don't Tell

"She's in the kitchen."

She is at the counter with a cup of tea in her hands and turns when she hears me.

Her face does the small thing it does — the flash before the close — but the close does not fully come this time. She holds the flash. She lets me see her.

I stop in the doorway and don't cross the kitchen.

"I saw someone this morning."

She waits.

"A therapist. I went on impulse. I went alone. I was there for less than an hour."

She does not say anything.

I take a breath.

"You were right about all of it. I have been handling you instead of trusting you. I did it again the night Adrian came to the door. I did it every time you tried to tell me something was yours. The reason was mine, Suzanne. It was not yours. I'm going to work on it. I don’t know how long that takes. I'm going to."

She sets the tea down on the counter.

"I'm going to tell Maddox. Today, if you'll come with me. I'm not asking you to come because I need you to carry it. I'm asking you to come because we are doing this together, or I'm doing it wrong."

She does not speak for a beat.

She walks across the kitchen.

She stops in front of me.

"I love you."

"Suzanne."

"I have loved you for a while."

I cannot speak for a second.

The kitchen goes suspended the way rooms do when someone you love says a thing you have been waiting to hear for so long that your body does not have a place to put it yet. Everything is the same as it had been when I walked in — the light, the kettle, even the calendar on the fridge — it's still Tuesday.

She takes my hand.

"And yes, I'll come with you."

I pull her in.

She folds against my chest, her body fitting in the grooves of my arms. I hold her for a long time until the spinning stops and the world is back on its axis.

"Please come home."

"Cade."

"Tonight. Please. I cannot spend another night there alone. I have been pretending I can. I cannot."

She laughs into my collar.

"Okay."

"Yes?"