Chapter 12
My ribs are caving in, each breath harder than the one before, but I push forward, even though my legs are dead weight beneath me.
I can’t stop.
I can’t let her win.
Not again.
“I am not my mother. I am not my mother. I am not my mother.” I chant my mantra over and over again as I pump my arms faster.
You never learn, do you, Erin?
“No. No, no, no,” I say aloud as I race down the street, my mother’s piercing voice slamming into me at full force, as if she’s running right beside me.
How could you let this happen?
Her voice sinks inside my head. I try to move my lips to form the words I’m so used to saying, but they don’t come out. They die before they reach my mouth, and I know it’s because it’s no use. I didn’t keep up with my mantras after I went to talk to Chase and now it’s too late.
Everything he said to me on that bench serves as a reminder as to why I have to be on alert all the time and why I don’t allow myself to be around guys.
His words caught me off guard.
The moment I took off running, I knew I messed up.
My recklessness left an opening for my mother to walk right in.
My hands shake so badly it takes three tries to get the key in the lock. I shove myself inside and slam it shut with my back, panting like a dog as sweat drips from my forehead like I’ve just walked out of the shower.
My lip quivers as I pull my phone out from my back pocket and try to connect my playlist to the speakers, desperate for a way to drown out and eliminate her voice.
The phone slips from my grasp, and it clatters to the wooden floor.
You didn’t control those butterflies, Erin.
“I tried to,” I say as I drop to my knees and fall to my shins.
You’ve been leading him on.
“I didn’t mean to.”
You’re just like me.
“No.”
Yes!
“Stop.”
He’ll hate you now.
“I’ll tell him the truth.”
It. Won’t. Matter.
“Leave me alone, Clarissa Rose!” I yell as I clamp my eyes shut and throw my hands over my ears. My mother’s poisonous words continue to run free, each word acting like salt dripping over an open flesh wound.
You’re gonna hurt him, Erin.
The sound of vibrations against the wooden floor grab my attention, and her voice begins to fade long enough for me to catch my breath. My phone moves in small increments on the ground as someone messages.
Eighty-Seven: Let me know you got home safe, Quarterback.
I read the words from the guy I left. The guy I wish was here right now. As if he hears my silent cries for him, his face lights up my screen.
“Hello?” I whisper after I answer the call.
“Pay attention, Bookworm. Class is in session.”
I blink back the tears threatening to spill.
Confusion swirls in my head as I try to register his words that don’t seem to make sense.
I fled, barely registering my own feet hitting the ground. And now, he’s calling me to talk hockey? As if that moment in the park never happened.
Why?
There’s no anger or frustration on his end. It doesn’t make sense why he’s being nice to me.
His cool voice filters through the speakers.
“There are five face-off circles on the ice. Only two players are allowed inside the circle for a face off. It can also be called a puck drop. It’s how a game starts.”
“Okay,” I say, attempting to focus on each of his words to help slow my frantic pulse.
“If a player crosses the blue line, which is called the offensive zone before the puck does, it’s considered to be offside. Sometimes when it happens, it’s not always deliberate, but it’s still a violation and can stop the play. A face off will take place from one of the nearest five circles.”
“Right,” I croak.
“When players break the rules, they usually end up getting penalties. I should know, I’ve had plenty.
There are three categories for penalties: minor, major, and misconduct.
Minor penalty—two minutes in the box. If that player’s team scores, they can come out.
Major penalty—five minutes. You have to serve the whole time, even if your team scores.
Misconduct penalties vary. You can get ejected from the game, too. ”
“That’s bad.” My voice wobbles.
His voice tightens. “Bookworm, if you carry on like that, I’m gonna turn Byrdie around and be outside your door in ten minutes. And I think that’s the last thing you want.”
I want you.
“Everything’s okay. We’re okay.”
He says it so easily, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“O-okay.”
“You’re killing me, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
No one’s called me that before.
Why do I like it so much?
“Tell me what you need, Erin.”
You, Eighty-Seven. I want you.
Mom’s voice slices through me again.
Don’t be stupid, Erin.
“I…”
When this beautiful man who is already broken sees you for who you truly are, you’re going to destroy him beyond repair.
Her words pierce my skin and part of me fears she’s right.
I should stay away.
But his smooth voice is a beacon drawing me closer to him.
“Talk to me, Erin.”
“I need…” I pause. “I could really use a friend.”
“I can be that, Bookworm. I’d love to be your friend.”
“Yeah?” I sniff.
“In fact, I think we’re gonna be great friends. Best friends.”
“I’ve never had a best friend before.”
“Well, then, you’re in for a treat because I’m as best as they come.”
“Do you think… Do you think you might like to come over and maybe just talk?”
My head flicks to my front door when someone knocks. I push to my feet and open it, my phone still pressed to my ear.
“Yeah, I’d really like that.”
My eyes turn glassy, and Chase immediately steps into my space. As his arms wrap around me, the strong rhythm of his heartbeat thuds against my cheek. It grounds me, pulling me out of the storm in my head and into a place of safety.
“None of that, Bookworm. None of that.”
I don’t deserve this.
I don’t deserve him.
And yet, here he is, offering me all of himself.
At a languid pace, my hands lift from being pinned at my sides. I lock them around his back, and for the first time, every part of me relaxes as he holds me close.
It’s easily the best hug I’ve ever had.
How long we cling to each other, I don’t know. Who goes to move first? I don’t know that, either.
Eventually, we untangle and move over to the sofa. Once I’m settled, he grabs the blue blanket from a wicker basket on the floor and drapes it over me. Then he moves to the kitchen and returns with a mug in his hand.
He watches me, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. When my eyes linger on them a moment too long, he doesn’t appear to mind.
But my mother does.
Snap out of it, Erin.
You don’t kiss your friends.
You don’t kiss anyone.
“You scare me,” I blurt out.
“I scare you?” he repeats, his voice laced with confusion and surprise. “Can you tell me why?”
“When I’m around you, I give you parts of myself I’ve never let anyone else know or see.” A searing ache spreads with each breath. “It terrifies me that you pull me out of my shell without me realizing.”
“Do you want to share more?” Chase asks.
“Would that… Would that be okay?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. That would be more than okay.”
My cheeks burn instantly, fire licking my skin. The use of the new name has the butterflies dancing. I politely ask them to settle down.
They don’t listen.
“I was eight,” I tell him, letting the three words drop and settle between us, “when my dad died and my mom left. I think she ran off with a guy I saw her cheating on my dad with.”
“Erin, I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking his head.
I press my hand against my sternum, trying to quell the emotions swirling inside me.
“I’m not good at opening up, Chase. It’s never come easy to me,” I say as my hands curl into fists and the tips of my nails dig into my palms, frustration coursing through my veins.
Why do I want to tell him everything and go no further at the same time?
What does it mean?
Chase inches closer. His hands move to cover mine.
Calloused, but rough and smooth at the same time.
The raised skin represents his hard work and dedication.
His thumb makes slow circles over the back of my hand, showing his gentle side.
My hands feel safe in his, and for that reason, I trust him to hold my secrets—and me—with delicacy.
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you decide you don’t want to talk, I’ll stay.”
“I don’t think my mom wanted to be a parent. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t love me the way one should. We never had a bond. My dad saw that and made sure we had one. Sh—” Air catches in my lungs, and I stop.
“I’m here,” he whispers.
“Physically, she never hurt me. She’d grab me every now and then.
Shake me. But that was the extent of it.
It was her words that cut deep. I don’t remember when her spitefulness started.
Just that the harder I tried to be good, to be praised by her or feel wanted, the meaner she got,” I tell him.
“My very existence bothered her. Sober Clarissa Rose ignored me, and sometimes, that was better. Easier. When she had a bottle in her hand, I just wanted to disappear.”
I look up at Chase, who says nothing.
Questions slam into me.
What if he doesn’t understand?
What if he sees me differently now?
I wait for him to pull away, to tell me it’s too much.
But he doesn’t.
He just stays there with his hand on mine, unmoved by any of it, and out of nowhere, another truth spreads on the tip of my tongue.
What I saw happen to my dad.
Whenever I wake up screaming in the middle of the night, it’s always from the same dream—my dad getting shot and the man with the tattoo taking me somewhere. For years, I’ve said I dreamt of Roger finding and hurting me for sending him to jail.
I don’t know why sitting here with Chase feels as though he’d be the parachute guiding me to safety if I were to take that leap and tell him everything I’ve kept to myself all these years.
“Hey, come back to me.”
Just like that, I’m in the room again, rather than lost in my thoughts.
“Sometimes, I still hear her. I’ve worked hard to keep her out, but I can’t always do it,” I admit.
I don’t tell him that my mother came out to play today. I don’t tell him that I ran because I can’t become her. The thought of it—becoming someone who hurts others—shakes me to my core.
“I’ve always tried to keep my distance from people.
I thought it would give me a sense of control, and in some ways, it has.
Keeping people away lets me decide who I let in and what I let them see.
I’ve always been scared that if I let anyone get too close, I’ll lose that control.
And even though I barely have a hold on it sometimes, it’s the only thing that feels like my choice. ”
“You don’t have to share all your secrets and fears with someone to matter to them, Erin.”
“Can you really know a person if they don’t?” I ask him. “Sometimes, I think I’m just a reflection of someone else’s secrets and lies… and that I’ll never truly have what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to create my own narrative. Fight back and reclaim my power. The lies and secrets from my past; I want to leave them there where they belong. I just…” I pause. “I don’t know if it’s as easy as ‘just take it one step at a time’ like everyone always says.”
“You said you’re not good at opening up. Is there a reason you chose me to be the one you’re opening up to?” His words are impossible to ignore.
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” he says, voice barely a whisper.
“I like talking to you,” I say to him. “It feels as if I can tell you anything and nothing at the same time, and you’ll just… be here. You keep showing up when I’ve given you no reason to. I ran from you, and you’re still here. When I look at you, your eyes don’t see me as someone who’s… broken.”
His hand stretches for me, cupping my face, and I know what he sees on my cheeks. A blush creeps up, darkening under his gaze as he stares into my eyes.
“I feel the same way,” he admits, voice rough around the edges.
“I want to keep talking to you.” I let out a shaky breath. “I like you, Chase. I shouldn’t, but I do. I just… I don’t know how to do this.”
I pause, registering my words as they vibrate against my ribcage, but I don’t look away, and I don’t take my words back.
Because I mean them.
“I like you too, Erin,” he says, his confession settling into my bones.
“Do you think you can be patient with me while I figure it out?”
“I’ll be anything you want me to be, sweetheart, for as long as you’ll have me.”
The words wrap around me, a lifeline in the chaos, and this time when I let out a breath, it feels as though I’m surrendering, letting him be the safety net I didn’t realize I needed.
The truth is, I want this. I want him. And it terrifies me more than anything. Because when I look at Chase, it dawns on me that he might not leave.
And that’s the scariest thing of all.