Piper wants me. I know this. She’s said as much, but she wants us to be friends. Friends with more. Perhaps she believes that’s all she’s currently capable of.
With anyone else, I would be fine being a rebound. A strictly benefits guy. But this is Piper. She knocks down all my defensives like they’re as thin and ephemeral as butterfly wings.
We load up the back of the cart, and then we’re coasting back down the driveway. I try to find the words. “How do I…?” I can’t finish the sentence.
I hate asking for help. As long as I can remember, I’ve taken care of myself. I don’t need anyone. I’ve learned you should never reveal how much you want something. Desire is weakness. Showing your hand is opening yourself up for mockery and dismissal and loss.
I try again. “How do you do it? How do you make it work? How do you let go of everything we went through—everything that made you who you are?”
He shrugs. “I don’t. I share it.” He looks at me. “Show her some of your dark pieces. Share the things inside you that scare you. Take them out, let her look at them, and see how she reacts.” He brings the cart to a stop, parking between the cabin and the firepit.
How can I show her the dark slices of my past and not scare her off?
But they are part of who I am. I can’t be anything else.
“You say that like it’s easy,” I say.
The others are over to the side, playing cornhole, their conversation and laughter audible. Finley says something, and Piper throws back her head and laughs. My chest hurts.
Archer chuckles softly. “It’s anything but easy.”
“How do you get past the fear?” I ask.
We get out of the cart, and he hands me one of the bags from the back. “Being vulnerable with someone you care for is one of the most frightening experiences in human existence, which means it’s also one of the most courageous things you can do.”
You have to be brave to be weak. The concept is baffling yet accurate.