I’m such a damn pussy.

I’ll let Nate shove my cock deep into his throat, but I can’t stand hearing him talk about how much he misses me?

Fucking moron.

I grip the edges of the bathroom sink and try to talk myself into walking back into the bedroom to face him.

I love Nate. I can’t and won’t deny it.

I’m just not certain if I’m ready to go back to what we were before.

Maybe Carsen’s right—that we can’t go back, but we can move forward—but what if I’m too scared to try? What if I remember how good everything was once upon a time and stop trying to better my relationship, or myself? Then we’re back at square one, and all this suffering and pain was for naught. I’m not sure I can handle that.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

“Follow your gut. Be strong. Be smart. Be you,” I mutter to myself.

Follow my gut.

I slam my eyes shut and push out a deep breath. Then another, and another. I do this until my mind is clear, until there’s nothing there that’ll sway my decision at all.

The next thing I know, I’m pushing my way into the bedroom.

“Where’d you get this?”

I lift my head to find him holding his burnt orange shirt—his first favorite shirt, the one I kept when he moved out of our room.

Shit.

“I, uh, I kept it.”

“You kept it?”

“Why do you sound mad?”

He stares down at the shirt bunched in his hands. “I’m not. I’m…confused.”

“About?”

“This.” He shakes the material. “Why’d you keep it? After everything, why?”

Almost stoically, I take a seat on the bed next to him, my arm brushing against his.

“It felt right.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I don’t know what any of this means, not even what we just did.”

“I’ll take you still being able to get hard for me as a good sign.”

I shoot him an irritated glance. “You’ve never not turned me on, not through this whole ordeal we’ve been through. Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t hear me on the several nights I missed you a little too much and couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

He lets out a dry laugh then sighs.

“What happened to us, Blake?”

“Nothing.”

“Then where did I go wrong? When did we stop being us? When did we stop talking? Stop turning to one another when we needed help?”

I collapse back onto the bed, expelling a heavy breath. I cover my eyes with the heels of my hands and press hard, trying to push away the overwhelming worry that’s starting to settle in my chest.

“It wasn’t you.”

“Are you trying to be all cliché on me? It’s not you, it’s me type shit?”

“Not on purpose. I’m serious when I say it wasn’t you.”

He rests back on the bed next to me, adjusting himself until he’s on his side, propping his head up on his hand and staring down at me. “Explain.”

“It was…”

When I don’t respond, don’t move for several moments, he reaches out and lays a hand on my stomach. His fingertips dance over my skin, and I missed his touch so fucking much.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says reassuringly.

“I do. You need to know.”

“Well then you don’t have to tell me tonight. Whatever is easiest for you, whenever you’re ready.”

“That’s the thing—I am ready. I’m just so fucking scared you’ll never look at me the same again.”

I feel his hand on my face, titling my view his way. “There is nothing—not a single fucking thing—that will make me look at you like you’re anything less.”

“I…” I lick my lips, ready to voice out loud what the doctor told me. “I was diagnosed with depression a couple months ago.”

I brace myself, waiting for the look of pity or disbelief. The It’ll get better or the You’re just going through something phrases.

But I don’t get any of that.

Instead, the love shining in Nate’s eyes is almost blinding. The way he’s looking at me is almost breaking my heart, in the best way possible.

“You said diagnosed. Does that mean…”

I nod. “Yeah, I saw a doctor shortly after we broke up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed help.”

“And now?”

A flash of embarrassment stings me, but I quickly remind myself there is nothing wrong with seeking professional help or talking through your feelings with someone else.

“I’m in therapy.”

His lips tilt up at the corners at my answer.

“What?” I push.

“It’s nothing. I’m just…I’m proud of you, you know. Reaching out and getting help is a big deal, especially for you. That’s not who you are at all. I’m happy you did.”

“Th-Thank you.”

He lies down on his back, and we stay planted in the same position for so long that I fear he may have fallen asleep.

“Nate?”

“Yeah,” he answers groggily.

“Are you, uh, mad at me?”

I can practically hear him roll his eyes. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because I didn’t talk to you.”

“Blake,” he says on whisper. “I can’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt that you couldn’t come to me, but I also understand. I probably would have found some way to make it about me. I would have thought I was doing something to make you so…down, would have tried to look for ways to fix it.”

“That’s exactly why I tried to distance myself, to get help elsewhere. I just…I think I went about it the wrong way. I panicked.”

“And then I made it so much worse.”

Nate pulls himself up and straddles me. He brings his face inches from mine, his hands planted on the mattress around my head.

“I need you to know that I’m sorry. With everything inside of me, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, sorry I did what I did. I regret every single fucking second of that day. I hurt you. I hurt us. I’ll never be able to take any of that back, but I hope we can move past it, can work through it.”

He speaks with sincerity, and I know he’s hurting too. I tried to fix me, destroyed him, and then he destroyed us.

That’s how fucking complicated we are, and I’m hesitant to get mixed up in complicated again.

“I…I think I’d like that.”

“I’m sensing a but here.” He grins, knowing me so well yet again.

“I need more time. I want to…make sure I’m giving the best version of me you can get. I want to make sure that if I slip again, I can work through it and not project so much onto you. I don’t want to burden you, don’t want to put that pressure on you. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I just want to be sure, you know?”

A wrinkle forms between his brows as they scrunch together, and he chews on the corner of his lip.

He leans down, his body hovering above mine as his lips ghost along the shell of my ear.

“I want to be clear about something, Blake: you were never a burden to me—never. Not once did I feel that way. Was I worried about you? Yes. Was I frustrated with you because you were closing yourself off from me? Yes, but you were not—and never will be—a burden. We’ll navigate your depression together. We’ll find ways to work through it together. You’re never alone, not even when we’re apart. I’m here for you, as your friend, your lover, your punching bag, and your cuddle buddy…whatever you need.”

A shiver races through me with every word he utters. They curl around me, promising me a future with him. I love how they captivate me.

God, I love this man.

But I need to learn to love me and take care of me too.

He pulls back and stares down at me, eyes soft and loving.

“If you say so,” I whisper.

Then his lips are on mine.