Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“I can’t.” The words come out small, broken. “It’s too much. He’s too much. All of it …”
“Is exactly what you need,” Noah finishes. “You’re stronger with him. Better.”
But am I? Or am I just pretending to be better? Playing the role of someone who can handle charity galas and society photos and Katherine Sterling’s sharp smiles?
“Eat something,” Noah says softer. “Then maybe try answering one text. Baby steps, right?”
Baby steps. Like Lee taught me. Like we practiced together, counting tiles and breaths and moments between panic attacks. That was before. Before the gala showed me exactly how unsuitable I am for his world. Before I watched him spiral as he tried to protect me from it. Before everything got so complicated.
“I just need time,” I whisper, but we both know I’m lying.
My phone buzzes again.
I don’t look.
Can’t look.
Won’t look at Lee begging me to be brave when I can barely breathe.
Instead, I start counting tiles again.
One more time.
Just to be sure.
“Nope.” Noah plops down on my desk chair, disrupting my perfect view of the ceiling. “Not doing it this time.”
“I’m fine.” The lie tastes stale, like everything else these past three days.
“You’re not fine. You’re hiding and counting and pretending the world doesn’t exist.” He spins the chair to face me fully. “The Salem I know doesn’t hide.”
Thunder rumbles outside, making the windows rattle. Perfect. Even the weather matches my mood, dark clouds rolling in like my anxiety.
“The Salem you know is tired,” I whisper. “Tired of pretending to be normal. Tired of trying to fit into his world. Tired of—”
“Being happy?” Noah cuts me off. “Because that’s what you were with him. Actually happy, not pretending.”
“I was acting.” But my voice wavers. “It was all an arrangement.”
“Really?” He starts ticking off points on his fingers. “So Lee learning to count tiles with you was acting? Him remembering exactly how many times to sanitize everything was fake? The way he automatically puts himself between you and crowds—that’s all pretend?”
Lightning flashes, illuminating my perfectly ordered room. Everything in its place except my heart.
“You don’t understand.” I clench my hands. “His family, his world … I can’t be what they need me to be.”
“No,” Noah agrees, surprising me. “That’s incorrect. You can’t be what they want you to be, and that’s okay because you’re exactly what Lee needs.”
“Remember last week at the coffee shop? How you told me about some little kid spilling his drink near you?”
I close my eyes and recall how I told him about it when I got home. Just in passing, though. “Lee cleaned it up.”
“No,” Noah leans forward. “YOU cleaned it up. You said it yourself. Without counting first. Without panicking. And I bet Lee just stood there watching you with that strangely proud look he gets on his face when he stares at you for longer than two seconds.”
The memory hits me hard—Lee’s smile, his quiet “that’s my girl,” and the way he’d squeezed my hand after.
“One incident doesn’t—”
“You went to a charity gala, too, with tons of people in attendance, with germs all around you. Do you remember telling me about that as well?” Noah interrupts.
“Stop making sense.” I shake my head at him.
His face lights up. “I can’t. Not when you did so fucking great. You danced in public. You handled his mother’s fake rich lady smile and didn’t break under pressure. That’s not pretending, Salem. That’s growth, that’s healing.”
Thunder cracks overhead, making me jump. But Noah’s right—six months ago, that sound would have sent me straight into a panic attack. Now it’s just startling.
Because of Lee.
Because of how he teaches me to breathe through the scary parts.
Because of how he makes everything make sense, even when nothing makes sense at all.
“Growth or not, I’m still broken,” I whisper as rain drums against the roof.
Noah’s smile is soft but firm. “Maybe. But you’re stronger broken with him than perfect without him. Plus, we’re all broken in some way, shape, or form.”
The truth settles in my chest.
Broken but stronger.
Imperfect but trying.
Maybe that’s enough.
Maybe I’m enough.
My phone buzzes again, but this time, Drew’s name lights up the screen. Noah raises an eyebrow as I actually reach for it this time.
Drew: He’s not doing well.
Drew: Hasn’t left his apartment in two days.
Drew: Keeps cleaning everything. Three times.
My heart clenches deep in my chest like someone is squeezing it. Lee doesn’t clean obsessively—that’s my thing, my coping mechanism.
Except …
Another text, this time from Bel.
Bel: Found him counting ceiling tiles at The Mill.
Bel: He misses you.
Bel: He’s lost without his anchor.
“See?” Noah gestures at my phone. “You’re not the only one falling apart.”
My gaze catches on the silk gloves Lee bought me. They sit folded on my dresser, arranged by length. I remember how careful he was when presenting them to me and how he’d learned exactly how to help me put them on. What we did at the gala was terrifying, but is admitting and accepting my feelings for him more terrifying than never sharing another laugh or kiss with him again?