Chapter Twenty

Willow

My mom doesn't come home that night, and part of me is glad. I don't want to see her or my dad yet. I'm honestly not sure I want to see any of them again, even if I do feel guilty and sick for thinking such awful things.

I consider cutting Chemistry class the next day to avoid another problem I'm not ready to deal with, but I've never been one for cutting class, so I drive to school, worried my current employment will be the topic of juicy gossip. Apparently, Everette isn't much of a gossiper, though, something I discover after class when I run into him in the hallway.

Literally.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," I sputter an apology, stumbling back from him, feeling like an idiot for slamming into him while staring at my phone. I was distracted, checking my email to see if any of the jobs I applied for responded back.

A couple of places offered me a position, but they don't pay very much. Still, I might be able to get away with accepting two if I have to.

Everette offers me an understanding smile. "It's okay. I'm not very good at texting while walking, either."

"Still, I should know better after crashing into people multiple times." I smile back, nervousness bubbling in my stomach that he knows my secret.

"I'm sure everyone does it." He glances around the hallway then leans in, clutching the book he's holding. "I'm actually glad I ran into you. I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mutter quietly, anxiety pumping through my veins.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, and I promise I won't ever bring it up again," he says in a hushed tone. "But you ran off so quickly ... It had me nervous that maybe that guy hurt you or something."

"That's not why I ran off." I adjust the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and peer around the mostly vacant hallway. "I was just surprised to see someone I knew there."

He nods in understanding. "I won't say anything to anyone. We all have stuff we don't want other people to know, right?"

I nod, surprised by his sincerity. "Thanks. I really appreciate that."

Smiling, he opens his mouth to say something, but Beck strolls up.

"Hey." He stops beside me, standing so close our shoulders touch. His gaze bounces between Everette and me before finally landing on Everette. "What's up, man?"

"Not much." Everette stuffs the

paperback into the back pocket of his faded jeans. "You playing soccer again this weekend?"

"I was thinking about it, but I need to check on a few things first." Beck grows quiet, rubbing the back of his neck.

Everette raises his brow like okay? "I guess I might see you there, then." He looks at me. "See you in class next week?"

I nod, and then he heads down the hallway, digging his phone out of his pocket.

I nervously turn to Beck. I haven't seen him since I gave him the list. I honestly didn't know how I was going to feel being near him again, if I'd lose it. But his nearness seems to calm some of the clusterfuck of shittiness currently crammed in my chest.

I discreetly eye him over, chewing on my lip. He's wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt, jeans, and a beanie with a few strands of hair sticking out from underneath. My eyes travel to his lips, and I find myself touching my own, remembering our kisses, how soft his lips are, how wonderful it felt to bite them, how life felt perfect for a moment. Completely and utterly and wonderfully, smile all the time, flutters in my heart, tingles on my skin perfect. But that was only a delusion, something I was reminded of yesterday.

I quickly try to force the mental images of the kiss away, and my senses go haywire from the scent of his delicious cologne, his overpowering warmth, and my desire to touch him again.

I stab my fingernails into my palms. Don't you dare. You already have too much to worry about.

Beck shifts his gaze to me, question marks and uncertainty flooding his eyes. I wonder if he'll bring up the list or if we're going to just act like nothing happened, like we did after the last kiss.

"You know him?" Beck asks, nodding in the direction Everette wandered off in.

"Um, yeah. He's in my Chemistry class." So not what I was expecting him to say. "He seems nice."

He nods, studying me intently. "He is."

The strange, hurt look on his face has me feeling lost. "How do you know him? From soccer?"

"Yeah, he plays on one of the other city leagues, and we've chatted a few times after games." He shoves up the sleeves of his shirt, glancing up the hallway then back at me. "What were you guys talking about before I walked up?"

I shrug, loathing myself that I'm about to lie to him once again. "Nothing. Just an assignment."

A pucker forms at his brows as he studies me again, as if trying to unravel my thoughts. "It looked like you two were kind of having a pretty intense conversation."

"The assignment was for a final, and you know how I get about finals." Guilt smashes my chest, making it difficult to get air into my lungs. I can't tell Beck the truth. Not about this. What I can do is talk to him about my father. Not until we're alone, though, in case I lose control.

He glances down the hallway again then fixes his gaze on me again. "You're not ... Is there something going on between you two?"

"What!" I cry out, drawing attention from people passing by. I inch closer to him and lower my voice. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugs, his jaw set tight. "Because that's how it kind of looked with how close you two were standing to each other. And you had this look on your face like you were relaxed."

Try more like relieved Everette wasn't going to tell anyone my secret.

Still, I don't want Beck thinking I'm dating anyone, especially after I made such a big deal about the kiss and us never hooking up again.

"I promise you, I'm not seeing anyone, including Everette," I tell him, and the tension in his body loosens. "You should know that, considering ... well, everything." My gaze magnetizes to his lips again as images of our kisses soar through my thoughts. My skin warms like gooey melted chocolate, chocolate I want to eat ... taste ... and ... I blink.

Oh, my God, what the hell is wrong with me? I've lost all of my self-control.

Panicking over my out of control thoughts, I hastily change the subject. "So, what have you been up to for the last week? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages." Exactly seven days ago, since I gave you the list. But who's counting?

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to hang out, but I've been busy."

"With school?"

His shoulders slump. "And work."

"Since when are you busy with work? I thought that was kind of the point of having your own business and doing what you do: you make your own hours."

"Not with that job." He sounds irritated, although I don't think it's toward me.

I stuff the textbook I'm holding into my bag. "You have another job? Since when? Oh, was that why you were up early when I called you yesterday?"

He nods then motions for me to follow him. "Come on. I'll explain while we walk." He starts to walk down the hallway then pauses. "We are still hanging out, right?"

I nod. "Of course. I was just getting ready to text you when I ran into Everette."

His lip curls in annoyance at the mention of Everette, but when he notices me watching him, he forces a fake smile. "Want to go to the café on the corner? There's actually something I really need to talk to you about besides my current job position, and that place is pretty quiet."

"Sounds good to me." I smile, growing uneasy as I think of all the things he could want to talk to me about. "It's not bad, is it?"

He glances at me distractedly. "What?"

"What you want to talk to me about."

"No, not at all. At least, I don't think so."

"Can you give me just a hint, so I don't worry?" I ask as we push out the doors and step into the warmth of the sunlight.

"Now what would be the fun in that?" He chuckles at the look on my face then slings his arm around my shoulder.

God, I needed this more than I even realized.

Need? The word sends panic and shock through my body.

Need.

Need.

Need.

The start of my mom's downfall.

I start to lean away.

"Relax." His lips pull into an adorable lopsided smile that convinces me to stay put. "The café is only about two minutes away."

"Two whole minutes," I joke. "I think you're overestimating my patience."

"You're usually pretty patient."

"Not when you tell me you need to talk to me about something."

"It's just an idea I had," he explains as we hike across the lawn underneath the shade of the trees.

"About what?"

"About me helping you with moving out of that apartment."

I slow to a stop. "Beck, I really appreciate your help, but—"

He places a finger over my lips. "No protesting until you've heard me out, okay? Just give me that."

Well, crap. How can I say no to that, especially while he's batting those baby blues at me?

I nod reluctantly. "Okay, I'll hear you out." My lips move against his finger, and his gaze flits to my mouth, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. "But only because you're my best friend." I aim for a light tone, but I sound cringingly breathless.

Desire flames in his expression and my heart stammers from the look. Thank God he rips his attention off my mouth before I end up collapsing on the ground.

"That's the only reason, huh?" he teases. "So, what does that mean? That you never hear anyone else out?"

"Not usually," I joke in an off-pitch voice that makes me cringe. "I guess you should consider yourself very lucky."

We start walking again, stepping onto the sidewalk and heading for the corner.

"Oh, I do," he assures me, grinning from ear-to-ear, "especially right now."

My brows dip. "Why now?"

He winks at me. "I'm here with you."

I roll my eyes. "That was so cheesy."

He nudges me with his shoulder. "Don't pretend you don't like it."

I roll my eyes again, but when he smiles at me again and my heart flutters, fear lashes through me. I don't know if my nerves are from the kiss or if all the stress bearing down on me has turned me into a twitchy squirrel. But I don't like being nervous around him, not when he's the only person who calms me down.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, suddenly seeming apprehensive, too.

"Homework," I lie. God, I suck.

The sunlight reflects in his eyes as he assesses me. "Are you sure? You seem ... nervous."

"You should know by now that I'm just a nervous person," I remind him as we hop off the sidewalk to cross the street.

"Yeah, but I also know that, if anyone can calm you down, it's me." He grins proudly. "So what do I need to do?"

Kiss me again.

Touch me again.

Make me go back to the stars.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Tell me what you want to talk to me about," I reply as we arrive at the entrance to the quaint coffee shop. "And then I have some stuff to talk to you about."

His brow rises as he looks at me. "You do?"

I nod. "A lot of shit happened yesterday." When his lips part, I place my finger over his lips like he did to me. "You get to talk first, and then I'll go."

He slowly nods with a puzzled, impish glint in his eyes. I soon find out where the look is stemming from as he nips my finger then backs away, leaving my jaw hanging to my knees.

When he reaches the door, he pulls it open and motions for me to go in first, bowing like a total weirdo. "My lady."

That gets me to laugh.

He grins. "I knew that one would win you over."

I roll my eyes, ignoring the torrid emotions funneling around inside me. "You're such a weirdo." I enter the café, breathing in the deliciou

s scent of coffee and baked goods.

He lets the door swing shut behind us. "Like you're not."

I get in line, looking over the menu on the marquee. "No, not at all. I'm the opposite of a weirdo."

He moves closer, and I stiffen, conflicted, wanting, fearing. Want. Fear.

"Junior year at my end of the school year bash," he whispers in my ear. "You spent the entire night pretending you were a wizard and casting magic spells on everyone."

It takes me a moment to hear his words through the fogginess in my brain.

"I was drunk." My voice comes out hoarse, and I quickly clear my throat. "Normally, I don't do that kind of stuff."

"The beginning of sophomore year," he says. "You made me play dress up with all that weird steampunk shit you collect."

"Hey, I don't know why that makes me weird." A hint of a smile rises on my lips. "You're the one who played dress up."

He lightly pinches my hip, and my body jolts, my back arching toward him and my ass brushing against his hips. Tension electrifies as we both freeze. Beck starts breathing loudly. Or maybe I do. It's really hard to tell when we're this close.

What the hell is happening? It's like those kisses broke my ability to think clearly.

"What can I get you?" the cashier girl asks, dousing the moment.

I jump forward, taking a breath to settle my lunatic heart.

Dammit. I should've put a no touching rule on the list. But I really didn't think things would be this bad between us. They never have been before. Then again, I've never grinded my hips against Beck until I came apart. Over and over and over again...

"Miss?" the cashier looks at me like I'm the weirdo Beck just accused me of being. "Are you going to order anything?"

I glance from the menu to her. "Um ..."

"She'll have a caramel latte." Beck steps beside me, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. "And I'll have a mocha cappuccino. And we'll both have ham and turkey subs."

I smile gratefully at him, and he throws me a wink before turning back to the cashier.

She smiles at Beck, twisting a strand of her highlighted hair around her finger, going all doe-eyed. "Do you want any cookies to go with that? They're two for a dollar."

Beck looks at me, seeming highly amused. "What do you think, princess? You want something sweet to nibble on?"

I battle the overwhelming urge to stare at his mouth again. "Sure."

His eyes sparkle with delight as he glances back at the cashier. "We'll take two chocolate chips."

Her gaze dances between the two of us. Then she untwists her hair from her finger and punches in the order. "That'll be nineteen fifty-seven." Her tone isn't so friendly anymore, and I smile to myself, though I have no right to.

I swing my bag around to dig my wallet out, but Beck swats my hand away.

"My treat," he says, retrieving his wallet from his jeans.

"I'm paying for mine," I tell him firmly, slipping my hand into my bag.

"Please just let me pay for this one. I'm the one who suggested we get coffee, anyway." He opens his wallet and digs out a twenty.

"So what? I'm the one who's going to be drinking it." I take my wallet out, grab a ten because that's all I have and hand him the bill. "I'm going to pay for my own beverages and food, or I'm not going to eat and drink them."

He hesitates before taking the money from me and stuffing it into his wallet. "Next time, I'm buying."

I disregard the remark. "And no trying to slip it back into my wallet when you think I'm not looking."

Shock flashes in his eyes, but he quickly shakes the look away. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You so do."

"Do not."

"Beck, you're so full of—"

"Oh, look, a table opened up." He hurries off toward a table near the window and takes a seat.

I give the cashier my name then make my way around the tables and sink into the chair across from him.

I slip my bag off my shoulder, set it by my feet, and rest my arms on the table. "Okay, what do you need to talk to me about my living situation for?" My tone is formal, casual, despite my crazy lunatic heart.

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're seriously the most impatient person sometimes."

I reach across the table to flick his hand, but he drops his other hand over mine, trapping my palm on the table.

"Now you're my prisoner." He grins wickedly. "And I'm never letting you go."

My heart pulsates from the contact, and not necessarily in a bad way. I try to wiggle my hand free, but he refuses to let go.

"No way," he says. "I'm not letting you go until you hear my idea completely out."

"You're making me nervous ... if you have to trap me here to say whatever it is you need to say."

"I just want to get through my entire speech without any interruptions. That's all."

"But you're afraid I'll try to bolt?"

"Not really bolt so much as wander off when I start saying things you may not want to hear."

"I don't do that," I say, flattening my hand on the table.

"You do sometimes." He traces his thumb across the back of my hand, and I shiver. "You did in the field."

A huge elephant wearing a tutu and ballet slippers appears next to us and starts twirling around as awkward silence fills the air. Part of me wants to keep my lips fused and never speak of what happened, let the elephant dance and twirl between us for the rest of my life. The other part of me knows how distracting that would be. And wanting a distraction is what led me to get drunk last Friday, which led to me making out with Beck.

"So, what's your idea that will help my living situation?" I force the elephant to sashay away.

His brows pop up, as if he half-expected me not to say anything at all. "I want you to move in with me."

I had a feeling he was going to say that. "I don't think—"

He swiftly extends his free hand across the table and gently places it over my mouth. "Please, just listen to my entire speech before saying no, okay? It's not as bad as you're thinking. At least, I don't think so."

I hesitantly nod, despite not wanting to, but he has such a pleading look on his face.

To reduce some of the stiffness between us, I crack a joke. "Man, you must be getting desperate"—my lips move against his palm as I speak, and butterflies frolic in my stomach—"if you have to pin my hand to the table and gag me."

He withdraws his hand, his lips threatening to turn upward. "Well, desperate times call for desperate measures." He puts his other hand over mine. "You're turning me into a desperate man, Wills."

I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything at all. Inside, my heart reacts with a spastic flutter. Damn little weirdo. It needs to start acting normal again.

His lips quirk at my silence as he strokes the back of my hand with his fingertip. "I want you to move in with me."

It takes all of my willpower not to cut him off right there.

"And I know you don't want handouts from me—that's not what this is. I promise. In fact, I was thinking that you could pay some rent. That way, you will feel more comfortable." He sucks in a preparing breath. "Also, I know you're probably thinking about the list and how its existence is a good reason not to move in with me, but I promise you it'll only make the situation better because it gives us boundaries. It'll keep us in line so we stay ... just friends." He swallows hard at the last part.

"I love the offer." And part of me really does. "But I just don't think it's a good idea with everything going on. And besides, there's no way I could afford to rent your place."

"I know that," he says. "And that's why I wa

nt to make rent be whatever you can afford. It's not like I need the money, so it doesn't even matter. I'm only letting you pay rent because I know you won't consider this unless I do."

"I know you don't need the money, but ..." I rack my mind for an excuse. I'm scared. Scared to move. Scared to move in with a guy I kissed. Scared to move in with a guy I want to kiss. "Then why would you even want a roommate? I mean, people usually get roommates to split the cost of rent."

"I don't want to do this because I want a roommate," he stresses. "I want to do this to take away some of the stress your mom's put on you for years. And I know you want to move out of that apartment. You even called Wynter to see if you could rent a room from her."

My head slants to the side, my brows knit. "Wynter called you and told you that?"

"Of course she did. She was worried about you. She cares about you." He cups my hand between his. "She said you sounded upset ... Did something happen?"

Cares?

Cares.

Cares.

Cares.

According to my mom, no one cares about me.

I shrug. "My mom came home, asking for money to buy drugs. That's it. I don't even know why I got so upset. It's not like she's never done that before."

"Princess ..." He holds my hand like it's the most precious thing in the world. "It wasn't okay any of the times she did it, and I think deep down you know that. You deserve so much better, even if you don't think so." He traces circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, watching me, as if waiting for me to say something. I know if I open my mouth, I just might fall apart. "Let me help you, please. I want to ... I want to take care of you."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me. I'm fine." I choke on the lie. The truth is, I want to accept his offer because I'm terrified of not getting a good enough job, of not being able to pay rent, of living my life while always worrying if my mom is dead. Of becoming the woman who stood in front of me in my bedroom, begging for money and destroying the snow globes my dad gave me just because I wouldn't. The woman who told her own daughter no one cares about her.

I suck in a breath and another, trying to compose myself. I've been running on stress and anxiety for weeks now, and I feel like I'm standing on a cliff, about to fall.

 He traces the folds of my fingers. "You're not fine. I know you. I know you well enough to know you're worrying about your mom. Just like how I know those bags under your eyes are because you didn't sleep last night, probably because you worried about your mom and bills and God knows what else. I can help you if you'll just let me." His voice softens. "Just say yes, move in with me, and let me take some of the stress out of your life."

He offers too much.

I want it too much.

"You've already taken care of my sorry ass too many times." I rub my free hand across my forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

I wish I could fully explain to him why I can't accept his help. Explain that I hate relying on people. I need to take care of myself. I hate trusting people when they generally break that trust, like my stupid father who thinks he can walk out then just come back and think everything is going to be okay. Like my mom who rips me to shreds when I don't do what she wants. I want to explain how I'm scared all the damn time of failing, of turning into my mother, of being a terrible person, getting perfection then losing it, of losing Beck, of getting my heart broken. And not just broken, but broken by him ...

What the hell? When did that change? When did I stop worrying about getting my heart broken in general to just worrying about Beck smashing my heart to pieces?

Blood roars in my eardrums as all my fears and worries pour through me simultaneously. Panic strangles my throat. I'm about to fall off that cliff. A fall that I think has been coming for months now.

"Calm down and take a deep breath, Wills. Everything's okay." He squeezes my hand. "I'm going to let go of your hand. I need to get something out of my pocket."

I obey, inhaling and exhaling as he reaches into his pocket. I expect him to take out his phone, so when he sets a folded piece of paper onto the table, confusion pierces through my storm of anxiety.

"What is that?" I ask as he slides the paper across the table toward me. "Is that the list I gave you?"

He shakes his head, his eyes fixed on me. "It is a list, though, of all the reasons you should move in with me."

When I don't pick the paper up, he takes my hand and sets it in my palm.

"I knew that talking to you probably wouldn't work," he says. "You need to have something you can really look at and think about."

I fold my fingers around the paper as tears threaten to pour out of my eyes. How can he know me so well? How can he see me?

What else has he seen?

I hold on to the paper, too afraid to look at the list, afraid of what's on there, of what's not on there. Afraid I want what's on there.

"Beck, I really love that you want to help me—I do," I say, trying to breathe and think straight. "And taking care of me all these years when you didn't have to ... There aren't even words that can express how grateful I am. You're my hero. Seriously, I don't know where I'd be without you ... if I'd even be alive. Which might sound dramatic, but I'm not kidding. There've been so many times when you've picked me up and saved me from sleeping in a car and getting harassed by drug dealers. Or that time my mom dropped me off on a street corner near a crack house because she wanted me to go buy drugs for her, and when I wouldn't, she got pissed and kicked me out of the car. You came and picked me up, and I was so scared because there were those people who kept trying to convince me to come into their houses ... And I really thought they were going to kill me ..." I trail off as the tears start to fall. "But you don't have to take care of me anymore. Trust me, if you knew the whole story, you'd stop trying so hard."

"You're wrong." He grabs my hand as I shake my head and start to pull away. "Maybe you should tell me the whole story and let me be the judge of that."

I can't tell him.

Won't.

I won't risk losing him.

I can't handle letting him look at me differently.

I want him to always look at me like he's looking at me now.

With compassion.

And need.

Want.

And something else that scares me half to death, something I'm pretty sure might break rule number three on the list.

But, as my lips part, all of it spills out, foul, ugly words that sum up the bad choices I've made over the last couple of months. My job. The lies I told him. How much I hate myself. My dad showing up. How much I think I might hate him and my mom. That all I am is hate anymore. And how he can't want something so ugly and messed up?

When I finish, there's only silence. No one moves. Breathes. Even when my name is called to come get our order, neither of us budge or say anything.

Really, is there anything left to say?

"I can't breathe," I whisper, staring at the table, unable to look at him.

I want to take it all back, but I can't.

My chest splinters apart as the silence goes on.

Pressure builds inside me.

Hold it back, Willow. Do not lose your shit.

"Wills, I didn't even realize it was that—"

He gets cut off by chair legs scraping against the floor as I push to my feet.

I dash away from him like a coward and run into the bathroom, locking myself in a stall. Then I slide to the floor, clutching Beck's list while sobbing my heart out. Just. Like. My. Mom.

I don't know how long I cry, but by the time the tears stop, my eyes are swollen and my chest hurts. I think about getting up, but moving means facing Beck, and I don't think I'm ready yet. That is, if he's even still out there.

Does it matter? You have to pull yourself off the bathroom floor eventually.

Swallowing down the shame and agony, I reach for some tissue, but then I note the list clutched in my hand. I unfold my fingers from around it. Do I dare read it? Can I handle what's on it?

Does it even matter anymore?

Knowing Beck will probably never talk to me again, I take a deep breath and start reading.

All the reasons you should move in with me:

Because it would make your life a bit easier.

Because it will eliminate some of your stress.

Because you won't have to worry about trying to sleep through loud, obnoxious parties. In fact, you'll always get final say in whether we have a party.

My place is closer to the school, which means you won't have to drive around in that piece of shit car so much.

Because I love having you around.

Because we can have pillow fights at two o o'clock in the morning.

And don't forget those midnight talks we always have. Only, instead of having them over the phone, we can lie in bed together and talk.

Because I'll be the most awesome roommate ever.

Because, while you think you don't deserve someone helping you, you do.

Because I made a promise to you when we were younger, and making sure I keep that promise is absolutely the most important thing to me.

Because every single night you're at that apartment, I lie awake in bed, worrying about you.

Because your mom doesn't deserve to have you around.

Because you shouldn't be paying for your mom's rent when she treats you so poorly.

Because I want you to live with me more than I think you realize.

Because you're my best friend, and I care about you more than anything in the world.

I have more, but I'll stop there for now. If you're stubborn about this, I'll make a list long enough that it takes you forever to read, and then you'll just be stuck with me until you're finished.

Care.

Care.

Care.

He cares about me more than anything in the world?

By the time I reach the end, I don't know whether to cry or laugh.

"I want to take it all back," I whisper through the tears. "Not just the lies, but the decisions."

/>
That's the thing. I can't take stuff back, no matter how much I want to.

I don't know how long I stay in the stall, letting tears slip from my eyes, but eventually, I manage to drag my ass off the filthy tile floor.

Unlatching the door, I open the stall and walk out and immediately grind to a halt, blinking and blinking and blinking again, wondering if stress has finally made me hallucinate. No matter how many times I blink, Beck remains leaning against the bathroom door with my bag in his hand and a look on his face like he's about to approach a skittish cat.

"What are you doing in here?" I rub my eyes, trying to wipe away all the tears. "This is the girls' bathroom."

"Really?" He mocks being shocked. "Good thing you told me. I was about to pee in one of the sinks."

I smile, but the movement aches. "You're such a little rule breaker."

"I know." His intense gaze causes me to step back.

I take another step back as he approaches me, only stopping to avoid bumping into the wall.

"Don't worry; I'm not going to break your rules," he says, stopping in front of me.

Breaking the rules was actually the last thought on my mind.

I swallow hard, begging my voice to come out semi-normal. "Why are you in here?"

"To make sure you're okay." His gaze travels across me before coming to rest on my eyes.

I can't read him at all, so I wait for him to say something. All he does is take my hand, brings my palm to his lips, and places a soft kiss against my skin.

"Let me help you, please," he whispers. "I can't stand seeing you like this ... in so much pain."

I choke on my next breath as tears flood my eyes. "How can you even want to anymore ... after what I told you?"

He places another kiss on my palm. "Nothing you said changed how I feel about you. If anything, it just makes me even more determined to get you to move in with me and get you away from that shit."

"No one forced me to do it, Beck," I say, shivering from another kiss. "I chose to work at that place because the money was good, and I was tired of working three jobs and still barely being able to pay the bills. I chose to lie about it because I was too much of a coward to face up to my bad decisions."

"We all make bad decisions. You know me well enough to know how many times I've fucked up."

"Just because your dad thinks you fuck up, doesn't mean you actually do."

"That's completely untrue. And only you see it that way because you're a good person who only wants to see the good in me."

"I'm not a good person," I choke out.

"Yes, you are." He touches his lips to my palm again.

"No. I'm. Not." I'm losing the battle, my will, my everything.

Another kiss. Then another. "You need to stop thinking so poorly of yourself and start seeing yourself for who you are: a kind, caring, beautiful, strong girl who's survived the shitty hand she was dealt and come out on top. Who graduated, got into college, and paid for her own way. Who took care of her mom when she was way too young to be doing so. Who cares about other people so fucking much she lets herself break apart to take care of them. I just wish you'd let other people care about you ... Let me care about you."

Care.

Care.

Care.

He cares about me.

My mom was wrong.

Maybe she was wrong about everything. Maybe not all guys bail.

Beck hasn't bailed, and he saw me at my worst. And I didn't break when I thought he left. I picked myself up off that bathroom floor.

I want to kiss him so badly I can barely breathe. The only way I can think of to get the air back into my lungs is to seal my lips to his.

So, I do.

His lips part in shock, and I almost pull back, fearing he doesn't want this anymore after what I told him. Then his arms loop around my waist, and he presses me so closely there's no room left to breathe. Air doesn't seem so important anymore. Just kissing him. Touching him. Feeling safe.

He always makes me feel so safe.

Tears burn my eyes as I realize why that might be.

Overwhelmed, I pull back enough to get air. Beck rests his forehead against mine, his erratic breathing caressing my cheeks.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, grasping my waist.

I shake my head then nod, so unsure of everything. "I don't really know ..."

He tucks my head underneath his chin and picks me up in his arms. "Everything's going to be okay. We'll get you through this."

The "we'll" part breaks something inside me, because it makes me realize I'm no longer alone in this—that I'm choosing not to be. I latch on to him, holding on for dear life. And he does the same, maybe even holding on more tightly.

The end of the list...