47. Please Overstep
47
PLEASE OVERSTEP
Layla
My instinct is to find Harlow and Ethan. They’ve been my people for so long. They always will be.
But there’s someone else who can help me more, someone who desperately loves to help.
As I leave the park, I write a text.
Layla: Hi. I need to talk to you tonight. About a business thing. I’m kind of…lost.
I hit send before I can second guess myself.
Help isn’t something I like asking for, unless it’s from my two closest friends. But I suppose this is what having a relationship is all about.
A few minutes later, he replies.
Nick: Of course. Anything you need.
I wince, a little embarrassed I need him for this question.
But I do. He’s the only one who can help. After we make plans to meet at my place that evening, I head home, lock myself in, and shower without washing my hair. I change into fresh clothes, tossing on a tank top and pulling on jeans.
I loop my dry hair into a messy bun, then grab one of my makeup bags, ready to begin putting on my face.
I stare in the mirror, considering what kind of makeup to use. Maybe just some foundation and gloss? Add in a little mascara for a finishing touch? As I like to say, you’re never fully dressed without mascara .
But when I grab the foundation brush, I have this sudden impulse to… not put on makeup.
It’s weird, this feeling.
Great, just great . Another thing I don’t know how to handle.
I put the brush back in the bag, set the bag on a shelf, and go to my living room, flopping down on my chaise longue and letting myself exist with this uncomfortable, naked feeling.
I click open a book, and I read until Nick texts:
Nick: I’m on my way.
I pop up, feeling totally unsure of myself. But when he knocks and I yank open the door, my uncertainty vanishes.
At least I’m certain of this.
Him.
Us.
He looks like he did when I met him. Strong, powerful, wise. He wears charcoal slacks, and a burgundy button-down. His tie is unknotted. He’s such a messy-tie guy after hours.
I tug on it, pulling him through the door and closer to me. “Hi. I need you.”
“I’m here,” he says.
A few minutes later, we’re on my couch, and I’ve shared the digital copy of the deal memo Mia gave me earlier in the day.
That’s not what I need Nick’s advice on, though, that’s where he starts. When he sets the phone down after reading, he asks, “Do you want to do this?”
Easiest answer ever. “Yes.” I’ve been certain ever since I went to Mia’s office. “It seems challenging and fun and meaningful and right up my alley.”
“It does sound like you,” he says, but he’s not grinning. He watches me with concern, and before I can gather the nerve to ask my big question, he asks, “But you think you’re breaking a promise?”
I’m so relieved he gets it, but I’m not surprised. Of course Nick would know why this weighs on me.
I swallow roughly. “It’s just…the take care of Mom promise? I’ve always thought that meant I had to work for her, to look out for her, to make sure she’s happy.”
“I can see why you’d think that.” He’s careful when discussing my parents. I can tell he doesn’t want to overstep.
“Nick, I need to know what you think it means…as a father,” I implore. I never thought to ask him before. I didn’t want to take advantage of his insight as a father. But I sure do now. “Tell me. It’s been chasing me for years.”
No, that’s not true. The promise has done more than chase me. “It’s defined me,” I say, correcting myself.
Nick sighs deeply, shaking his head, but it’s not a sad sigh. It’s contemplative. “Layla,” he begins quietly, importantly.
“Yes?”
He takes my hand. His gentle gaze stays on mine. “I believe it means he knew you’d be okay without him. He knew his strong, brave girl would be all right whatever she did, whatever she chose, whatever she decided.”
Damn him. He’s making me cry. Leaning close, he swipes a thumb across a tear on my cheek.
“He told you he loved you. That’s what he wanted you to know. Then he told you to take care of her because he wanted someone to remember the woman he loved. But as a father, he’d never have wanted you to do something just for her. He’d have wanted you to be free to make the choices that are best for you. The choices you want to make.”
My shoulders shake as relief and something almost like joy clobber me, but I swallow the next wave of tears. “You really think so?”
“I believe it completely,” he says.
“You’re not just saying that because you…”
He gives a tiny laugh. “Because I love you?”
“Yes.”
He cups my cheek, runs his thumb down my bare face. “I’m saying that because it’s what I believe to be true.”
I feel lighter, freer. And I feel loved. “Nick,” I whisper, a new kernel of hope pushing me on.
“Yes?”
“I think this is my dream job,” I whisper reverently.
“I think it is too.”
I climb onto his lap, straddle him, and kiss the hell out of him. “I love you more every day.”
He wraps his arms around me then kisses my cheek. “Good. Your love is all I want.”
Then I show him how much I love him. I take off my jeans and panties, then I undo his zipper, and sink down onto him.
“Yessss,” he groans, leaning his head back against the couch cushion.
I don’t rush. I just indulge in the feel of him and our intimacy. The way we grow closer in everything we do, in and out of bed.
For a while, I dodged any kind of connection. I was terrified of it.
I’m still scared of losing him. I’m sure I always will be. But I’d rather live with that worry than live without love.