Page 84 of Waiting for You

He nodded.

"I told myself I was moving on, but it was a lie. Everything was for show. I brought Andrew to that trip and used him as a shield so I wouldn't have to face the fact that I hadn't healed from anything. I spent the whole week pulling your attention away from Eliza, convincing myself that it was friendship." I swallowed. "A-And the worst part is… I-I knew… I knew exactly what I was doing."

Xavier didn’t say a word.

"I-I was used to doing things my way," I continued, my voice shaking "I… I make decisions for the people I love. I decide what they need, what they can handle, how much truth they deserve, and I never give them the chance to make the call for themselves. I did it when I was twenty-one with the ring. I decided you couldn't survive my father. So I removed the choice from your hands.” I paused and blew a puff of air. “And I did it again in Hawaii… I decided you'd moved on and I had no right to say anything. I chose your feelings for you."

I met his eyes.

"That stops today. I'm saying it out loud, right now, so you can hold me to it. I will never decide for us again. If I'm scared, I'll tell you I'm scared. If I'm about to run, I'll tell you before my feet start moving. I'm not going to protect you from myself anymore.” I shook my head. “You don't need my protection. You need my honesty."

He stared at me as if he was memorizing every word that came out of my mouth.

I pursed my lips, hoping that he’d understand where I was coming from.

A minute later, he sat up and pulled his knees toward his chest, resting his forearms across them. I couldn’t read his expression. So, I braced for whatever was coming.

"I told you I barely thought about you," he said.

I blinked, the sting knocking off the breath out of me.

But I stayed still.

"At the rehearsal dinner. I looked you dead in the eye and said I was struggling to remember your face." He pressed his thumb against the bridge of his nose. “I lied… I've thought about you every single day for eight years. There hasn't been a morning since you left where I didn't wake up and reach for your side of the bed." He dropped his hand. "I said it because I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to feel what it was like to be erased in someone else’s life—the way your letter erased me from yours. And the second I saw your face crack, I knew I'd gotten what I wanted… And it made me sick."

My chest constricted.

"I carried the ring to the wedding," he continued. "I told myself I brought it to give it back. I told myself I was closing the chapter." He shook his head. "I don't think I've ever told myself a bigger lie. I brought it because I couldn't get on a plane to see you without it. I've been carrying that ring like a survival instinct for eight years, and I never once had the courage to ask myself why."

"We're terrible at this," I whispered. "We're the safest thing either of us has, and we can't stop lying to each other."

"Because the truth is terrifying when it matters this much."

"That's not an excuse anymore." I shifted closer and put my hand on his knee. "If we’re trying again, I need you to stop protecting me from yourself. Don't decide what I can handle. Don't perform indifference because you think it's noble or clean or because it'll hurt less if it falls apart again. If you're angry, I want to hear it. If you're afraid, I want to know. I'd rather fight with the real you every single day than fall in love again with the version you think I can survive. We’ll rebuilt this together."

He looked at my hand on his knee, then back at my face.

"Same terms," he said.

"Same terms."

"No more unilateral decisions?"

"None."

"No more performances."

I nodded. "Not a single one."

A rough laugh escaped him. "I'm going to mess this up."

"I know." I squeezed his knee. "So am I. We're both going to default to the old patterns when it gets hard, because that's what we do. But I'll catch it faster this time. I'll call us out."

"Good." He chuckled. "That's all I need. Name it. Say it out loud. I'll do the same."

He took my hand and traced his thumb along the tattoo on my wrist, the thin black ring where the beginning and the end met at the same point.

"I finished a chapter," he murmured, reading the meaning I'd given that mark years ago.