5. Pump Your Breaks
PUMP YOUR brEAKS
TESSA
The wall feels alive beneath my palm, almost as if it’s breathing with me. Or maybe it’s just my pulse, erratic and heavy, matching the chaos in my chest. Date four. Four. And Saul has already stripped me bare in ways no one else ever has—not even the men I’ve been with face-to-face.
I press my forehead against the cool surface, desperate for clarity, but my thoughts only tangle further. How did I let myself get this far? How did a stranger—a voice from the other side of a wall—get under my skin this much?
This isn’t me. I don’t let my guard down like this. I don’t lose control. But Saul? No matter how much I try to anchor myself, he’s a whirlwind I can’t escape.
And that terrifies me.
What if this isn’t real? What if it’s just the novelty of this absurd setup, the fake intimacy of whispered secrets in the dark? What if he’s not who I believe he is?
I need to ground myself. Or maybe I need to ground him. Discover the cracks in his perfection, the flaws that make him human. Something to remind me that I’m not just creating a fantasy.
“Saul,” I say, my voice trembling despite my attempt to sound steady.
“Yes, love?” His accent wraps around me, warm and inviting. Too inviting.
I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the courage that brought me here. “Can I ask you something? Something... personal?”
“Of course.” His response is instant, with no hesitation, and somehow, that only makes me more nervous.
I swallow, my throat dry. “What’s your relationship with God?”
The following silence is deafening, stretching so long I wonder if he’s still there. Just as I’m about to call his name again, he speaks.
“That’s a question I didn’t see coming.”
His voice is softer now, cautious, and it only makes my nerves spike. “I figured,” I admit, my fingers tracing aimless patterns on the wall.
He exhales, the sound heavy and deliberate. “If I’m honest... I don’t have one.”
The words hit like a sharp wind, taking my breath with them. “You don’t believe?”
“I believe in what I can see and touch.” His tone is steady, yet there’s a heaviness to his words as if he’s bearing something much heavier than mere doubt. “Faith... the supernatural... it’s difficult for me to reconcile any of that after what happened to my mother.”
The mention of his mother makes my chest tighten. He told me the bare facts during one of our earlier dates, but now, there’s something rawer in his voice—grief and anger intertwined.
“She believed,” he continues, each word slow and deliberate, as if they’re being pulled from a deep place. “She was a woman of faith. Always praying, always hopeful. She trusted God to protect her. And where was He? When Patrick beat her? When he...” His voice breaks, and the silence that follows is almost unbearable.
I press my hand harder against the wall, wishing I could reach through it. “Saul,” I whisper, my voice barely above a whisper, “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt. But... do you really think she was alone?”
His response is a long time coming. “It felt that way. Still does.”
I close my eyes, searching for the right words. “I don’t believe she was. I think God was with her, Saul. Even in her pain. Even in the worst moments. I think He was holding her.”
“How do you know that?” he asks, his voice tinged with skepticism and something else—hope, maybe?
I reach for the pearls around my neck, their familiar warmth grounding me. “Because I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. My Grandmère used to tell me that we’re never truly alone, especially in the dark moments. She said our ancestors, God, the universe, always watch over us, even when it feels like no one is.”
I pause, running my fingers over the smooth beads. “The pearls I’m wearing. They’ve been passed down in my family for generations. They’re more than just jewelry; they remind us that someone will always catch us, no matter how far we fall. God is always there.”
The silence on the other side of the wall feels heavy but not hostile. It’s the quiet that comes when someone is wrestling with truths they don’t want to face.
“I used to feel Him,” Saul says at last, his voice now softer. “On the rugby pitch, when I was in the kitchen... moments when everything just flowed. It felt like something bigger than me was moving through me. But I pushed it away. I didn’t want to feel it.”
“Why not?” I ask, my heart aching at the vulnerability in his tone.
“Because feeling it meant acknowledging the pain. It meant opening wounds I didn’t want to deal with.” His words come faster now, like a dam breaking. “It’s easier to just... shut it out. To focus on what I can control.”
“But you don’t have to shut it out,” I say gently. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. You’re allowed to feel the pain and still believe. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”
He exhales, the sound weary but different now—less weighted. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “Or maybe I didn’t want to see Him because seeing Him meant realizing how much I’ve been missing.”
My throat tightens, the emotion in his words cutting through me. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” I say. “Start small. Just... let yourself feel it again.”
There’s another pause, and then his voice comes, low and steady. “You know how I know God’s there, Tessa?”
“How?”
“Because He brought you into my life.”
The words stop me cold, stealing the breath from my lungs. My hand presses harder against the wall as if I could somehow reach him.
“Saul,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Don’t say anything,” he murmurs. “Just... don’t give up on me. Not yet.”
“I won’t,” I promise, the words slipping out before I can think better of them.
And in this moment, I know I’m in too deep. Saul isn’t just someone I want. He’s someone I need. Someone I believe in.
Even if it scares me to death or breaks me, I’m not letting go.