28. Chapter 28
Daria
I feel like a dead cockroach who’s been repeatedly stepped on by the time I make it up to the apartment. It’s dark, only a faint glow coming from the light above the stove when I slip inside the door and set my bags on the floor at my feet.
A tinge of disappointment tweaks in my chest. I’d hoped Dane would be able to wait up for me so we could talk, but I don’t blame him for falling into bed. My body has been begging for the exact same thing all night.
I kick off my shoes, then head for the bathroom when a soft “Hey” stops me in the hall. Turning and seeing the coziest version of Dane, the one clad in plaid boxers and a white tee, has me wanting to melt into him.
I’d love nothing more than to curl up in his arms on the couch all night just so I can hear his steady breathing, feel the strength of his arms cradling me close. The complete and total yearning that visual creates has me softening toward what happened with us earlier.
Is that how he feels about me? Like he wants to hold me and never let me go?
“I tried waiting for you but fell asleep,” he says with a lopsided smile. He rubs a fist in his eye in an adorably juvenile way.
“You’re fine.”
He pads across the floor on bare feet and stops just inches away from me. “How are you feeling after all that?” His slow smile creeps higher.
“Like I won ten grand,” I joke, earning a raspy chuckle from him. “But I’m also exhausted. I think the high from winning has officially worn off.”
He nods like he gets it and crosses his arms. “It’ll all settle in when you wake up tomorrow ten thousand dollars richer.”
I snort an ugly sounding laugh. “Still a comedian, I see.”
He cocks his head, curious. “You heard that?”
“Did I hear your brother say he’s considering following in your male model footsteps to get women’s attention? Yes. And did I also hear your mom implore you to marry me before I got famous? Also yes.”
Dane groans and slides his hands down his face. “Why is she so bent on ruining my life?”
I shove his forearm and say, “Come on. She was just giving you sound advice with that one.” He lowers his hands to look at me. “I mean, she’s right. I’ll be way out of your league once my designs hit Fashion Week.”
He shakes his head and pulls me toward him. I don’t protest at all. My whole body sinks into Dane when he wraps one arm around my back, the other around my waist. “You’re already out of my league, Daria.” His whispered confession sends goosebumps along my arms.
I lean back just far enough to meet his eyes.
“We both know that’s not true.” Being so honest with him has me swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat.
But I’ve already come this far. Might as well lay it all out to him.
Before I get the chance, he lightly grazes my cheek with the rough pads of his fingertips.
“I’m sorry for what I said in the women’s restroom.”
My smile quirks playfully. “Why do I feel the need to cross-stitch that onto a heart-shaped pillow?”
His full-mouthed grin gleams in the darkened room. “Because you’re a witty, whimsical woman with a talent for stitches.”
“You’re so hot when you alliterate for me.” I’m joking, of course, but Dane’s next move sets my blood on fire.
His arms tighten around my waist as he bites his lower lip. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.” I sink into him a little more.
“What else do you like me to do for you?” His words drop into a low, gravelly whisper. All of a sudden, this conversation feels dangerous.
I swallow. “I like it when you cook for me.”
His smirk grows. “Yeah? What else.” The light circles he grazes against my hip prove incredibly distracting.
“I, um, like it when you take care of me when I’m sick.”
His smile softens. “I like doing that for you too.”
“That’s because you’re a glutton for punishment. No one in their right mind goes to the gym at the crack of dawn to lift weights. Just like no man with a healthy amount of self-preservation likes to take care of a pukey female.”
He shakes his head, humor written in the lines of his expression. “You’re so wrong but so cute at the same time.”
I roll my eyes. “You know I’m right. You’ve taken an emotional beating from me since I moved in and now look at us.”
All at once, the air between us grows thick.
Dane frowns, then reaches up to gently cup my face.
“I wish you’d stop saying things like that.
” His calloused thumbs scrape against my skin.
“You make it sound like I’m wrong for wanting to be with you.
Like I’m wrong for lov—” He stops abruptly and licks his lips.
“I just...I don’t like it. You’re worth all I’ve done for you and more, D. ”
My heart races as if I just ran a six-minute mile. Was this man—this gorgeous, perfect, patient man—about to say the word love in relation to me? My heart soars while my stomach sinks.
“I’m not, Dane,” I say shaking his hands away. “The sooner you realize that, the better.” It’s better to burst his bubble now than after we take things to places we may never be able to come back from.
I try to turn away and head for my room, but he clasps my wrist. Not hard, just firm enough to keep me from moving away.
“Daria, stop. Stop running from this—from us.”
Tears immediately well in my eyes. Ever since crying on stage, it’s like they're always hovering at the surface, waiting to spill free. I want so badly to tell him off just to push him away. The girl from four weeks ago would’ve.
But this me, the one who’s tired from carrying around years’ worth of baggage that's weighed down on me, the one who wouldn’t have been able to make tonight happen without the man before me, she’s sick of pushing people away.
I still can’t find the courage to tell Dane that simple truth. Not yet. Not until I know that this— me —is what he really wants.
But when he tugs on my hand and wordlessly leads me over to the couch, I don’t fight him. And when he gently nestles back against the cushions and pulls me down onto his lap, I let him. Once I’m safely curled into his large frame, he runs his knuckles down my arm.
“Will you tell me why what I said earlier upset you?” His softly spoken question threatens to unravel my already weak defenses.
But I need to give him an answer. He deserves one for being the only man who ever cared enough to ask me why I am the way I am.
So I try. For the first time in a long time, I...try.
“Because,” I whisper. “Forever feels impossible.”
“Why?” he prods.
I scoff a humorless laugh. “Because my parents weren’t like yours.
My mom didn’t even know who my father was.
Their relationship was DOA. And her love for me felt a lot like that too.
” Tears spring forth before I can attempt to stop them.
“She gave me up, Dane. Left me for others to raise. My whole childhood felt like one giant hamster wheel of trying and failing to earn other people’s love and affection until finally, I just gave up. ”
I swipe a hand under my nose and eyes as Dane continues to soothe me with his fingertips.
“Then getting cheated on,” I say in a shaky voice I wish I could steady, “getting cheated on in college was the last straw. I realized that hanging on for love is pointless. I wasn’t meant for the things that last and that’s...that’s...”
“It’s not true.” Dane’s resolute voice loosens a sob from my throat.
“It is true!” I grip the front of his shirt with both fists. “You think you’ll love me forever, Dane? When I couldn’t even make my own mother love me enough to stay?”
My outburst ushers in a deafening silence. I can’t tell what Dane’s feeling or thinking. All I know is the steady rise and fall of his chest, the feeling that my last reservation has been leaked, makes my eyes grow heavy, my thoughts fuzzy.
After long minutes of him simply stroking my arm, he says, “Remember when I told you that I see a therapist for my OCD tendencies?”
I swallow and nod against his chest, wary of where he’s going with this.
“Well, it’s helping me. Last week, I was able to walk all the way to the gym without having to touch the corner.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I still reply. “That’s good, Dane. I’m happy for you.”
He adjusts me in his arms until he’s looking me in the eye. Then slowly, so slowly, he takes my tear-drenched chin in his hand. “I think therapy could help you, too. If you gave it a chance.”
I decide against rolling my eyes since he’s being so sweet, so sincere.
“It’s helped Jamie,” he adds, surprising me.
“How do you know Jamie sees a therapist?”
“She told me,” he says. “It’s something we’ve bonded over.”
“You’ve bonded over going to therapy?” I raise an eyebrow, but he just chuckles.
“Yes, actually. We might go for different things—her for her grief, and me for my own issues—but we’ve both come to the same conclusion. It’s helping us move forward in our lives.”
His last phrase punctures straight through my hardened heart.
“Daria, for a long time, I thought I was stuck in my own head. Trapped in a way of life I’d never be able to get past. My tendencies made everything so much harder. I’d hyperfocus and overanalyze to the point that I felt paralyzed.”
“And you think I’m...stuck?” I ask.
He tilts his head and brushes the back of his hand over my tear-stained cheeks. “Not stuck, no. But I think it’s possible you’re allowing your past to define your future.” His blue eyes search mine. “ Our future.”
Another tear slips free, and he catches it with his thumb.
“Maybe,” he says gently, “if you talked to someone with the knowledge and skills to help you cope with the losses you’ve experienced, all you’ve had to go through, you’d be able to see a new future. A brighter one where forever is possible.”
His suggestion kindles something inside me I wasn’t at all expecting—a rare spark of optimism.
I’ve never allowed myself to consider what a life without all the hurt weighing on me could feel like. But Dane makes it sound weightless. Light. Possible .