Mark’s face paled and lost all expression. Without a word, he got to his feet and left the room.
And I sat there, breathing like I’d run a marathon, my ears ringing and my heart pounding.
Fuck him and his declarations of love. They were years too late. Couldn’t he see that I couldn’t take anymore? I was so close to my breaking point, I was half tempted to walk outside the gates and yell for Drake to come and get me just so we could finish the cat-and-mouse bullshit. I just wanted it to be over. I didn’t want to be scared anymore, and it felt like I was scared of everything.
After the shooting, I’d been terrified. Every noise, every sharp movement, going to school, driving in the car, even the dark had made me want to crawl out of my own skin. It had taken years for me to get past it, years before I’d even been able to sleep with a nightlight instead of a lamp. I’d deliberately put myself into dangerous situations until I’d become numb to self-preservation. I would’ve rather died than go back to how I’d felt back then.
But I hadn’t died and I was right back where I’d started anyway, and it was a thousand times worse now. I looked down at Olive.
Somehow, in the span of a little less than two weeks, my priorities had completely changed. It wasn’t about me anymore. It was her. Only her. I’d kill for her. Die for her. Sacrifice anyone else for her. The terror that gripped me when I imagined Drake getting ahold of her was debilitating. I found myself counting the steps to the doorway, cataloging all the exits, paying attention to the places we could hide and filing them away, just in case. I would do anything, literally anything, to keep her safe.
Protecting Olive held all of my focus. I’d always be thankful to Mark and his team for coming to get us and protecting us when there was no one else. That was a debt I’d never be able to repay. But that didn’t mean that I forgave him for abandoning me all those years ago. Frankly, I didn’t know when I’d have the emotional space to even contemplate it.
I looked up as someone opened the bedroom door. “What happened?” my mom asked quietly, coming into the room. “Mark just borrowed a bike and took off.”
“Nothing,” I said, rolling my eyes at the drama of it all. “I just laid out some difficult truths.”
“Difficult truths or typical Cecilia-style-annihilation?” my mom asked, sitting down on the bed.
“If you can’t take it, don’t dish it,” I replied stonily.
Mom inhaled slowly and let out a long breath. “We haven’t really talked about it—”
“I feel like this is kind of obvious, but now is not the time,” I replied before she could finish her sentence.
“Maybe now is the perfect time.”
“It isn’t.”
“Really?” she said curiously. “Because he’s here now. The man you never got over.”
“I’m over him.”
“If you are, then why have you never had another serious relationship?” she asked pointedly. “Don’t try to pretend that you’re immune. We can all see that you aren’t.”
“Maybe not,” I conceded. “But I can’t handle anything else right now.”
“Baby,” she said gently. “You let him in, and half that shit is lifted off your shoulders. Trust me on this.”
“If I let him in,” I countered, “it’s going to be a million times harder when he bails again when I need him.”
“I don’t see him going anywhere,” she replied.
“Give it time.”
“I swear to God, you have both your father’s stubbornness and mine, combined.”
“You saw the aftermath last time, why are you even bringing this up?”
“Because I did see the aftermath,” she said, shaking her head. “I saw the way it wrecked you. I also saw him come back, heart in his hands, and you wrecked him right back.”
“He left me,” I said, my voice rising in disbelief. “And then he came back afterward like he could just fix everything.”
“Life isn’t black and white, CeeCee,” she said. “Everyone screws up.”
“It wasn’t a screw up,” I said flatly. “He left, and I was so terrified and helpless and without options that I had an abortion. There’s no coming back from that.”
“You had options,” my mom pointed out. “You were never alone.”
I leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “I know I wasn’t. But we also both know that neither of us believed that I was ready to raise a child on my own.”
“Your father and I would have.”
“I know. I knew it then and I know it now. But I was an adult, and I had to make that decision. It wasn’t your responsibility to carry.”
Mom nodded and swallowed hard, her eyes growing glassy. “I always wished that I could’ve done more. Done something.”
“You did exactly what you needed to,” I argued. “You held my hand and you supported me, even if you didn’t agree. That’s all I needed.”