“Way,” I breathe.
“I don’t know how to talk about this without making it about me, and I’m sick of making it about me. Because it’s not. It’s about you too. It’s—”
“Hey,” I say, scooting closer, ducking my head to find his gaze. “Stop. I know.”
He sniffs, staring into me with such sadness it steals my breath. “I hate feeling like I failed you.”
My brow knits. “What? Where did that come from? How the fuck did you fail me?”
“If I was strong enough, if I didn’t… panic over a stupid fucking frying pan…” He shakes his head. “You’d’ve had no reason to move up your flight. I know… I know me falling apart is a trigger for you. I get that. Maybe now more than ever. Which is why I just—”
I release his hands and hurriedly cup his cheeks, jerking his gaze to mine. “Do you really think that’s the only reason I’m here? That that’s the only reason I fell apart last night?”
His features tighten, eyes darkening with some unnamed emotion.
“You heard me,” I say slowly, voice raw and strung tight, “when I told you I missed you. Right?”
Tears well in his eyes but don’t fall. He nods jerkily.
I inhale deeply, before releasing it. “What you don’t know is that I went to the airport twice in the last week before actually stepping foot inside the doors. Confirmed a change in flightstwicebefore actually sticking to one and getting on the fucking plane.”
Huffing out a sharp, humorless laugh, I look away. “Ivy knew it was coming. She all but threatened me, or rather, threatenedyou,to get me on the plane this time. Not that I needed it.” I pause as my gaze grows far-off and unfocused. “There’s no telling if I would've made it to Saturday, even if I didn’t get that call. I was almost,” —I scrunch up my face—“grateful,”I spit. “Grateful you were freaking out so I had an excuse to come out here.”
When he doesn’t immediately say anything, I turn to look at him.
His eyes are wide and so very, very gold in the orange afternoon light.
“And then, I got here, and you weren’t at the hotel. My phone was dead. The man at the desk said you might be at a bar—”
He’s rapidly shaking his head.
“—so I waited. I waited and imagined the worst. So when I saw you turn the corner…” My voice breaks off and I shake my head.
“You saw I was happy and thought the only way I could be happy was if I was drunk.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Because if you were happy sober, then why the fuck would you need me here?”
Arms come around me as he all but tackles me back against the headboard.
“Will.” He squeezes me. “You’re such an idiot.”
I choke out a sound that is equal part laugh, equal part sob.
He pulls back, gripping my shoulders. His hazel eyes are bright with unshed tears, but he’s smiling. “You stupid, stupid idiot.”
“That’s not very nice,” I say quietly, lip twitching.
Eyes still wide on mine, he says, “And here I’ve been freaking out, thinking you only needmewhenI’mfalling apart.”
I blink at him.
He swallows with a loud click. “That you only miss me when… when you’re scared for me, or-or… feel like you need to fix something, fixme.”
I curl my lip up at that. “What? I told you you’re not a fucking project to me.”
Smiling sadly, he shakes his head. Dimples peeking out, slowly, then more deeply. “I know. I know that. Doesn’t mean I don’t… worry.” He shrugs. “The whole foundation of our relationship rests on fucking trauma, man. You gotta wonder sometimes. Who are we without it? Not just us individually, but as a couple.”
Another blink.