Page 125 of Let’s Be Real

“Nate...”

“I saw your face when you answered the phone. I’ve never seen you so exhausted.”

“I’ll sleep when—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I tried that too. Told myself if I just pushed through, the other side would be better. But it never got better.”

I looked down. My fingers were digging into my thigh, and I hadn’t even noticed.

“You can’t fall apart on me, Samantha. I need you whole for me to come home to.”

A tear landed on my hand. “I want that.”

“Me too. But I need to get better first.”

“You will.”

He let out a long, rough sigh. “Knowing you believe in me after seeing me like that means a whole hell of a lot.”

I finally forced myself to face the screen again. “That was your worst, and I’m still here. I want to be here for you when you’re ready to come home.” I glanced around the room, my gaze snagging on the other shoe I couldn’t find, the empty glass on the bedside table, the unmade bed. “I’ve been letting everything go. Your place is kind of a big mess.”

He chuckled, and I swore I felt it all the way down to my toes. It’d been so long since I’d heard him laugh; I wished I could have rewound time to hear it again.

“All I care about is if you’re a mess.”

“Oh, Nate, I’m absolutely a mess.” I pinched my nose hard. “The drive has been stressing me out.”

“I know. When I first got here, I wasn’t thinking about you on those twisting roads. Then, this morning, I couldn’t think about anything else. That’s not good. For either of us.”

“So, what do you think we should do?”

He hesitated. “I want you to take care of yourself while I take care of myself. We’ll see each other on the other side.”

I rolled my lips over my teeth, trying my hardest not to feel rejected. It was nearly impossible.

He must have seen my turmoil. His eyes immediately went soft, and his voice turned into a croon.

“I love you, Samantha. This isn’t about that. Not even close. I’m not stepping back from you—from us. Please don’t think that.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to argue. How could it not be about me? But I’d gone to four therapy sessions in the last two weeks, and though I wasn’t even close to being healed, I was able to talk myself down with my therapist’s voice in the back of my head.

Listen to what he’s actually saying. Don’t invent the rest.

He’s telling you what he needs. Honor that while giving yourself what you need.

Hurting yourself to make someone else comfortable isn’t sustainable.

I sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. I’ll give you the space you need.” I held up a finger. “But I need you to stay in communication with me. We can talk about what that means, but if you go silent on me, it’ll feel like you’ve pulled away, and I can’t agree to that.”

He nodded eagerly. “There’s no way I can get through this without at least checking in on you.” His eyes roved over me, taking as much of me in as he could. “Tell me something, Samantha. Give me something to think about other than how sad you look right now.”

“I’m not sad.” As soon as I said it, a wet laugh burst out of me. “Okay, that isn’t true. I miss you like crazy, but I’m a lot less sad than I was seventeen days ago. I’ve…started therapy. I think it’s going well, but I have no basis for comparison.”

“That’s incredible, love.” His gaze was bright, interested. “You set a clear boundary with me just now. Is that something you’ve been talking about?”

“Is that what I did?” I pumped my fist. “Go me. I think that might be a first.”

His laugh was so beautiful, I nearly burst into tears again. “I’m really proud of you.”