Chapter Fifty-Six
Sunny D
Are you going to make me be the first to admit it…
My heart starts to take off at a sprint as I read his words, unsure of where this is going and if I’m ready for whatever this is yet.
Thankfully, he saves me from my anxious spiral before I have the chance to start shutting down.
Sunny D
Fine. I’ll go first, then.
I miss you, mi vida.
I miss you too.
Thank god.
Sunny D
And what are we going to do about that?
It’s too late for me to get a ride to see you (
Sunny D
Head downstairs and open the door.
Lol I’m not going to hitchhike if that’s what you’re suggesting. I think we can both make it one night.
Sunny D
Speak for yourself.
And just do as you’re told for once.
Like the smart man that he is, another text comes through immediately.
Sunny D
Please, mi vida.
I climb out of bed, careful not to step on any of the creaking floorboards as I pad across the hardwood.
I turn my light off so the girls won’t wake up but leave my door open in case I’m about to sneak a boy—no, a grown man —into my bedroom.
This is just like senior year of high school all over again.
I make it down the stairs and to the front door without anyone waking up, my heart in my throat as I recall their most recent intervention. The door unlocks with a snick before I tug it open and find Rafael standing on my porch wearing a cocky smirk that leaves me lightheaded.
He reaches out to tug my bottom lip from between my teeth, shifting his hand to cup my jaw and pull me in for a chaste kiss. When he withdraws, he grips my shoulders, spinning me around and swatting my ass. “Go on, sunshine. Lead the way.” My heart suddenly feels like it’s bursting.
The thing about that damn nickname is that with him, I sort of do feel like the sunshiny girls I grew up envying.
I don’t have much time to reflect on that before I’m grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise for fear of outing us to my best friends.
Once we’re in my small, dark room, I find my bedside lamp and illuminate the small space in a soft, warm glow.
Rafael peers around, refusing to let go of my hand as he takes in every detail from the small wooden bed frame with the baby-blue quilt to the matching chest of drawers with photos of my parents, Rachelle, and my friends.
He picks up each photo, studying them one by one, silent as he continues on through every last one.
His eyes finally meet mine when he says, “You look like them, you know.” His voice is so gentle, and the words wrap around me like a plush blanket. “But I can still tell which one is you in these photos. I’d know my girl anywhere.”
My girl.
He says it as if this is our thing now. As if we’d solidified that as fact, and that I’d somehow become officially his. It should infuriate me that he’s staking some claim on me, but it doesn’t. Not at all. In fact, it has the opposite effect, making me realise just how much I want that to be true.
“I’m not, you know,” I say, peering up at him.
“Not what?” he asks, his dark brow with the freshly shaven line at the corner now arched in question.
“Not yours,” I breathe but add, “but I want to be.” I avert my gaze, my neck flushing with heat. “If you’ll have me.”
I’ve spent the better part of the weekend sorting through my feelings, and no matter what path I took, they all led me back to him.
Yes, we’ve spoken briefly about wanting to trust each other with our hearts, and that was sweet, but we need a full conversation, and I’m ready to have it.
His large hands settle on my cheeks, pulling my eyes to meet his before smoothing them over my hair and down my back to tug me to his chest. He winds his arms around me, and I feel so damn safe in his embrace.
“I most definitely want you, Elise,” he whispers.
I hold my breath, my eyes burning as they fill with hot tears, waiting for the “but.”
It never comes.
“I know this wasn’t planned. That we weren’t planned, but I don’t think fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it, gives a shit about our plans.
I don’t know how either of us is going to learn how to be what the other needs without losing ourselves in the process, but I want to figure it out with you,” he says, his words ardent.
“It’ll be a mess,” I remind him, but that doesn’t deter him in the least.
He just smiles and says, “A beautiful mess.”
My heart does this strange thing that I can only explain as cracking wide open after bursting at the seams, only to turn itself inside out and swallow me whole. That is what his words do to me.
I’ve never had anyone want to be a beautiful mess with me. Never had anyone I cared enough about to even want to try that with.
“We’ll work it out, mi vida. We'll take it one day at a time, okay?”
I nod but croak out, “But we have to wait until the season is up. Recruiters are showing up to our games all the time now, and I don’t want to throw the team's momentum off or act as a distraction. So we’ve got to wait.”
“Then we’ll wait. I have a feeling I’d wait forever for you, Elise. No matter what, even if you change your mind altogether, just tell me how you’re feeling, alright?”
“The same goes for you,” I say, pinning him with a hard stare.
“Of course, baby.” He buries his face in my head, murmuring into my hair and peppering kisses to the crown of my head before tugging me toward my bed.
We settle in together, and his large frame eats up most of the space in my small bed. After a few beats of silence, I take a deep breath and ready myself for the part of this conversation I’ve been most worried about.
“What are your concerns?” I ask him, steeling myself for a few heavy blows to the heart, but this is important. I need to know, even if it hurts.
“I just want to make sure you don’t hold back with me.
I don’t know a lot about bipolar disorder.
I’m learning, I’m reading, and I will do right by you, Elise, but I need you to be patient with me,” he says, whispering the last words.
“I need you to tell me what you’re thinking, and how I can help you navigate it because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, and I’m terrified I’m going to say or do the wrong things. ”
The blows never come. Not even a solid gut punch.
And yet again, he tells me not only what I want to hear, but what I so desperately need to hear.
“Rafael, you can’t really do or say anything wrong when it comes to my mental illness because most of the time, I don’t even know how I’m expected to feel about it or how I should be navigating it, but I think that’s something we can learn together with time.
It’s something that’s relatively new to me.
I was diagnosed shortly after my eighteenth birthday, and if I really dig into my family trauma, it’s probably added to my reluctance to lean on anyone else because it felt so shitty to have to add another thing to my dad’s plate after my maman and Rachelle died.
” This isn’t a completely new revelation, but it’s certainly one I hadn’t been able to put into words, and I definitely haven’t shared it with anyone other than my therapist. It’s scary but also freeing to have someone to help shoulder the burden.
“Then we’ll sort it out together.” And there we have it, ladies, gents, and everyone else the reason the age-gap trope works so well in both books and real life.
Because this man is grown, and I know I wouldn’t be having this conversation with the likes of a Brad, Chad, or Brett.
I peer up at him, finding him working his bottom lip between his teeth as he stares at the corner of my ceiling.
“You’re making me nervous with that lip-chewing nonsense. What’s wrong?”
A startled laugh spills out before he can muffle it. I clamp my hand over his mouth and level him with a glare.
“Sorry,” he says, fully recovered from his outburst. “I just feel like a dweeb for suggesting this, but I was talking about some of my fears with Carlos, and he suggested couples counselling.”
My eyes widen, but I bite my tongue, remaining silent as I wait impatiently to hear what this could be about.
“And I know it sounds strange, especially because we’ve just entered our relationship, but he explained it as being something that’s useful for couples who aren’t yet having problems. He said that we currently have a brand-new car—” My brows knit together as I try to figure out what the hell that could mean.
“Just bear with me,” he says, chuckling.
“He says we have this new car when we start our relationship, but couples counselling gives us the spare tyre, the tyre jack, electric air pump, flashlight, wet naps, and whatever else we might need along the way. That way, when problems arise, we already have ways to work through them and prevent our metaphorical car from breaking down.”
“And to be clear, the car is our relationship, right?” I ask, unable to hide the humour in my voice.
“Yes,” he says with another laugh. “If you don’t want to try it, that’s okay. But I think he makes a good point. Maybe after we’ve spoken to your dad and have worked through the first steps, we can give it a try?”
My lungs feel tight at the mention of my dad. God, he’d be so disappointed right now. Not because of who I’m dating but how I’m going about it. Knowing that has bile climbing up my throat, and my lungs feel tight.
I give his hand a squeeze, silently telling him that I just need a few more moments to process the suggestion.
I think that’s become something we do and haven’t even been fully aware of it.
And if something like this might be what a counsellor would suggest we put in our “new car”, I’d be open to it.
But there’s another idea I’ve thought about off and on the last year, and I think now would be a good time to voice the thought.
“Couples counselling sounds like a good idea, but I also want to go back to therapy,” I say, meeting his eyes again. “Alone.”
He turns us over, pressing his forehead to mine. “Anything you need, and maybe I should put some thought into that for myself.”
Butterflies dance in my belly, and such a strange, light feeling passes over me.
“I’m sorry I could barely tolerate you when we first met,” I tell him.
His lips widen into a full grin. “Hopefully your dad still tolerates me after we finally tell him we’re together,” he says, and my heart feels like it’s glued itself back together, twisting behind my ribs.
“Yeah, you and me both,” I say, mostly joking.
A thought nags at the edges of my mind, my smile faltering.
“What is it?”
“I want to tell my dad about us as soon as the rugby season is over.” A heaviness settles on my chest, and my throat feels tight.
“We can tell him whenever you’re comfortable.”
I nod, and he runs the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “And to be clear, I don’t give a damn about the consequences, Elise. You’re an adult, and you’re mine . That’ll remain true regardless of what happens with your dad.”
That weight starts to lift the smallest bit. “I’m not worried about him lashing out on you, in case that’s what you’re worried about. I’m only worried that he’ll be hurt that we hadn’t told him sooner.”
“We’ve taken some time to get to know each other better, and in doing so, we’ve developed feelings. That’s not something either of us can prevent, and I wouldn’t want to even if we could. Your dad might need time to process, but he’ll get there. I’m sure of it.”
Tears well in my eyes, my nose suddenly stuffy. “I wish my maman were still here,” I whisper. “I’d be able to tell her, and she’d lighten the blow with Dad.”
I settle down on top of him, allowing his strong arms to cocoon me in his comforting embrace, the rhythmic beating of his heart a steady sound that soothes some of the ache in my chest.
“I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it’s been for you to adjust to so many changes in your life these last few years, but I’m in awe of you.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you be in awe of me? I’m a brat to ninety percent of people, I can’t cook to save my life, and I rely heavily on my roommates to make sure I stay alive. It takes three business days for me to sort through my emotions well enough to speak about them?—”
He cuts me off, unwilling to hear my doom spiral.
“The fact that you know it takes you a while to process your thoughts and have been giving yourself the grace to do so is something to be proud of. I’m used to acting on impulse or not speaking at all, and it’s something I’ve been working on.
Now, I didn’t realise you couldn’t cook, but that actually makes a lot of sense seeing as you’ve never even tried in my presence, but we’ll hire a chef or get meals delivered, and I can teach you how to cook. Mamí will too, I’m sure.”
I lift my head, wide-eyed as I stare at him. “Your mum?”
He averts his gaze, looking sheepish with lightly pinkened cheeks. “Yeah, so…” He reaches up to scratch his neck, his eyes never meeting mine. “I was talking to Carlos, and he begged me to come visit with you, and I said yes. I hope that’s okay.”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me at his sudden shyness. “Rafa,” I say, but he still refuses to meet my eyes. “Rafael, look at me.” I snicker.
When his big brown eyes meet my gaze, he’s pouting, and it’s unbelievably adorable. “I would love to meet your family. I’m absolutely going to fuck it up and embarrass you and probably throw up on the way there because I hate plane rides, but I want to go.”
He grabs my cheeks and plants a sloppy kiss on my lips that leaves me bursting with happiness as he pulls away, his eyes squinted at the corners and a contented smile on his full, wide lips. “You can’t fuck it up, Elise. There’s no way for you to.”
“Is that a challenge?” I joke, my brow quirked.
He rolls his eyes playfully, tugging me down onto his firm chest. “Thank you for agreeing to come,” he whispers.
“Thank you for wanting me to go.”
“I always want you with me,” he says, making my heart grow three sizes in my chest with his soft-spoken words. “Now, let’s get some sleep. We’ve both got games tomorrow, and you’ve gotta be on it.”
“Am I ever not on it?” I snark, rolling my eyes and tugging my quilt up to my chin.
“No, mi vida. No, you are not,” he says, kissing my forehead and leaning over to turn off the lamp, bathing us in darkness.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
“Goodnight, mi vida. ”
His steady breaths are the last thing I hear before drifting off, my dreams filled with a memory of my favourite birthday, before Maman got sick.