Chapter 23 #2
As much as I want to say something, I don’t.
It’s important for him to have the space to get his words out, especially right now.
The effort he’s put into communicating with me and being more comfortable the past few weeks has been such a giant leap from where he started.
I know it’s hard for him to convey his feelings, so I wait. I give him the patience he deserves.
“I think I…” he swallows, his jaw clenching as he struggles to get the words out, but I just wait. I hold him and I wait, “I’m in this…w-way deeper than… I don’t know if I’ll b-be able to…”
He’s getting upset with himself. His jaw clenches visibly in frustration, and I nod encouragingly, sweeping my thumbs over his cheekbones once more.
“Hey,” I whisper sweetly, dropping my head to meet his eyes, “it’s just me, Tate. Just talk to me.”
“That’s the problem,” he croaks.
I frown.
“N-no, not like that,” he stutters quickly, shaking his head from my hands. “You’re not the problem, Mae. I am the problem. I like you so much that I… Jesus, I d-don’t know. I just know that this is…different for me now. I won’t be able to pretend it’s not when you decide I’m not what you want.”
My eyes widen partially at the nickname, my hands dropping into my lap as I practically gawk over at him. He called me Mae, not Evie, just…Mae. What my family calls me, and he must have noticed. My heart swells in my chest.
“You called me Mae.”
He blinks a few times before nodding. “Yes.”
I recollect myself, clearing my throat as I sit up a little straighter. My nickname is not the point here, he is. This is.
“Listen, Clark, there’s nothing wrong with you. There’s not a single thing about you that I don’t like. Why are you so sure that I wouldn’t want you?”
“Well, I…”
“It’s not about whether or not I want you,” I say softly, “it’s about whether or not I’m ready for you. I’m scared that I’ll never be the person you deserve to have, Tate. The partner you’d deserve to have.”
His brows knit together as his dark eyes observe me for a moment, and with the way his mouth pinches, I know he disagrees. I know what he’s going to say.
“I would never make you wait for me,” I tell him, reading his mind. “I wouldn’t want you to. That’s so unfair. You deserve more than that.”
“But isn’t it my choice?” he asks in a weak voice.
With a huff of frustration, I push off the bed, standing up and crossing my arms over my chest as I pace back and forth in front of him. Debating whether or not I should let the feelings boiling inside me explode. Debating on what to say without crushing him permanently.
“What if I’m never ready?” I whine, flinging my hands in the air and feeling awful the moment I do. His entire frame shrinks. “Would you settle for friendship forever? No marriage? No kids? That’s what you want?”
“What if, someday, you are?” he counters quietly.
Glass half full kind of guy, that’s who Tatum is. I always wished to be that kind of person, but instead, I’m the one who prepares for the worst. I need to be prepared for any possible bad outcome, to protect myself. To avoid getting hurt.
“What if that someday is five years from now?” I shoot back. “Ten?”
“I’d say…” he pauses, “that’s still plenty of time left to spend with you.”
I sigh deeply, my shoulders sagging as my hands drop to my sides.
For a moment, I really don’t know what to say.
It’s like, suddenly, I feel so drained that all I want to do is crawl back into bed and go to sleep.
Even my eyes feel heavy, my energy depleted from the weight of this conversation. This is too much pressure, too much—
Tatum stands from the bed, still naked, wrapped in the flimsy sheet that he holds around his waist. His chest heaves as he steps closer to me, his hands shaky as he reaches out to brush my hair back behind my ear.
Just his touch alone has me relaxing.
“Maeve,” he whispers, and God, the way he says my name. “I’d rather have even just a few years with you than to never have you at all.”
As I reluctantly peek up at him, the water forming in my eyes decides to betray me, falling down my cheeks. He winces softly at that, taking his hand and ever so slowly brushing away my tears, one by one as they fall.
“And even if you decide that, maybe, you’re ready and don’t want me,” he takes a thick swallow, “I’ll gladly be your friend.”
And just like that, the pressure of it all disappears. This was never about him pressuring me at all. No matter what, he was giving me the space to choose. He was leaving this soul-crushing decision up to me because he knew what it meant for me to have that.
I don’t say anything, I just collapse against him, relishing in the warmth of his body as he wraps his arms around me.
This is my favorite place, my safe space.
It used to be the campus library, where I found solace, but that feels like a distant memory now.
My safe space is here, with his arms practically swallowing me whole, and the sound of his faint heartbeat in my ear as I press my face into his chest.
I know I’m so confusing. My brain doesn’t even make sense to me half the time.
I want to properly convey what I’m trying to say, but it always comes out the wrong way.
The fear that has my entire being in a death grip makes it hard to function, and I guess that’s really all it boils down to. I’m scared of this. Of everything.
I may not be ready for him now, but God, do I want to be.