Page 112 of The Path to Loving Him
“Pancake monster?”
I chuckle. “I don’t know. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Seemed to work, though. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she just got sad out of the blue, kind of weird but also good.”
“Good?” I ask.
“Yeah, because she’s attached, and that’s a good thing, Ryland. A very good thing.”
I swallow hard, feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility of that sentence. “Okay.” I swallow back the tightness in my throat. “Well, let me know if she needs to chat or if she really does need me to come spend the night.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s already snuggling up against Hayes outside.”
“Okay. Well, thanks. Bring her with you tomorrow when you come over to help out.”
“Of course. And just by chance, what are you doing tonight?”
Not wanting to get into it, I say, “Goodbye, Hattie.” Then I hang up on her and set my phone down next to me. I look over at Gabby and say, “Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize.” Her lips twist to the side, and I can tell she wants to say something she’s not saying.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“What are you not saying?”
She tugs on her still wet hair and says, “It’s just cute, hearing you talk to her. You’re really sweet with your niece.”
“Would you prefer I tell her if she calls me again she’s sleeping under the stairs?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No. I’m just saying it’s sweet. You seem to handle it very well, and she’s incredibly lucky to have you.”
I shift uncomfortably because it isn’t easy for me to take compliments. When I was growing up, compliments were not a thing in my household. Our mom died of breast cancer, same as Cassidy, and our dad was an alcoholic. I was left with Cassidy to be the parent of Hattie and Aubree while consequently getting the brunt of our father’s abuse. Nothing about our house was loving other than the love Cassidy shed on all of us. I’m pretty sure she’s the only reason I’m still here, that, and Hattie and Aubree.
“Thanks,” I say softly, looking toward the screen to distract myself.
“I made you uncomfortable,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“Can you stop apologizing?” I say. “Jesus, Gabby, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” My tone is harsher than I anticipated, and I can tell it is by the expression on her face.
“Okay, I’ll stop.”
She turns toward the TV as well, and I hate myself even more. This is exactly why I don’t enter into romantic bullshit because I have fucking issues. I have anger issues. I cannot regulate my emotions, and I don’t know how not to be an asshole when I’m stressed or uncomfortable.
I drag my hand over my mouth, and in an annoyed tone—annoyed with myself—I say, “Fuck, now I have to apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”
“It’s fine, Ryland.”
“It’s not,” I say. “I’m just . . . I’m not good at taking compliments.”
“I can see that.” She turns toward me, her eyes like a beating heart, offering me a lifeline with their understanding. “You can be real around me. You realize that, right? If you snap at me, you snap at me. It’s not going to change my opinion of you, but I will call you out if I don’t approve. I know what it’s like to have baggage. I know what it does to you as a human, and it’s baggage you never should have been carrying in the first place. I understand you, but know, if I apologize, it’s because I mean it.”
Guilt consumes me.
An uncomfortable tension rolls through my body.
And my mind is having a hard time comprehending that she has no problem talking about such . . . sensitive topics. Because what did she go through in order to thoroughly understand me?
