“No, you’re not,” I agree. “You’re pretty much the exact opposite of my ex, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that. I’m really sorry I got us off to such a bad start. But if you’ll give me another chance, I promise I won’t screw up again.”
She’s quiet for a long moment before she says, “I used to hear that all the time.”
“Hear what?”
“Promises that things were going to be different.” A sad smile twists her lips. “My mom was always telling me ‘this time, it’ll all work out, punkin, I swear,’” she mimics in a sugary accent much thicker than her own. “This time, the guy was going to be perfect. He was going to be like a dad to me, and Mama’s Prince Charming, and we were all going to live happily ever after together. Like a real family.” She sighs. “But that never happened.”
“I’m not your mom, either, Faith,” I say, gently. “When I say I’m going to change, I do it.”
“I know you’re not my mom.” She glances my way. “That wasn’t what I meant. I guess I just…”
“You guess what?”
She takes a bracing breath and turns her attention back to the road. “What I’m saying is that I know what it’s like to be messed up by bad things in your past. I’m not exactly peachy-keen with mine, if you know what I’m saying.”
“I do,” I say.
She shrugs. “So maybe, between the two of us, there’s just too much baggage.”
I roll that over in my head for a moment. “Maybe, but that feels an awful lot like letting the dark stuff win.”
Her brow furrows. “How so?”
I chew the inside of my cheek. It isn’t easy to talk about things like this—like how fucked up and scared I was last year—but at least Faith is willing to talk. And to listen.
Unlike Bridget, who vacated at the first sign things might get heavy.
“My relationship with my ex was seriously fucked up. Worse than I’ve probably let on. She… I thought she was going to break me, honestly.” I wet my lips. “But if I turn my back on what I feel for you because my last girlfriend made me feel like I was losing my mind, then the darkness wins. And I stay the person I am now and…” I sigh. “I don’t like this person very much.”
“Why not?” Faith whispers. “I mean, our misunderstanding or whatever it is, aside, you’re a good guy, Mick. You were a good friend to me on New Year’s Eve and you really didn’t have to be. There was nothing in it for you.”
“Well, thanks.” My lips quirk up at the edges. “I know I’m not all bad, but I hate that I’ve let myself stay broken.” My throat tightens as I realize how true the words are, and how much I regret it. “I’ve held onto the hurt and copped out on doing the work to get over the bad shit and move on. And because of that, I wasn’t ready when a one-in-a-million person came along.”
She shoots me a look out of the corners of her eyes. “Are you for real?”
“I’m for real,” I say, my pulse picking up.
“But we barely know each other,” she says, but there’s doubt in her tone and I’m not sure she’s buying her own argument.
“I know I have fun with you, I feel comfortable with you, I trust you to give it to me straight.” I risk a smile. “Maybe even a little too straight.”
“It’s a problem,” she says.
“It’s not. I like it. I also like how loyal you are to your friends, how committed you are to your job. How smart you are. How good you are at kissing.”
Her lips quirk. “Yeah, you’re pretty all right at kissing, too.”
“And not to brag, but I take direction really well.” I reach over, threading my fingers gently through the hair at the nape of her neck. “With a little guidance, I’m sure I can up my kissing game.”
“You don’t need any guidance, you’re…”
I’m about to ask her what I am, when she brakes and pulls to the side of the road, shoving the truck into park before turning to me with wide eyes.
“Yeah?” I swallow hard, not sure if she’s going to kiss me or tell me to get out and walk.
“I’m about to say something to you,” she says. “And I am dead serious about it. I cannot overemphasize the seriousness. Do you get me?”
“You’re serious.” I nod. “Me too. Completely serious.”
“You…scare me,” she whispers. “I am scared of how easy it is to be with you and how often I think about that morning on Melody’s futon.”
“I think about that a lot, too.”
“And that’s scary,” she says, her pitch rising. “I’m scared of getting so into you and how good all that tingly, sparkly stuff feels that I lose track of the person I want to be.”