Page 107 of The Professor's Wife

“I’m not trying to push you away,” I said. My throat tightened around every word. “I just…I reacted badly. I panicked. I promised I wouldn’t wig out, and here I am, wigging out. Again.”

I swallowed hard.

“I didn’t know how to say…”

“Say what?”

“That I don’t want to slow things down either,” I admitted. “I just don’t know how to do this, Tristan. I’ve never had someone like you. Someone…who makes me feel like I’m not damaged.”

His eyes softened. “You’re not damaged.”

“I feel like I am.”

He took another step, and I didn’t move.

I let him come closer.

“I pushed too hard,” he said. “I won’t drag it out of you, Daze. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

I blinked rapidly, the tears falling freely now. “You won’t like me when this is over.”

Tristan’s jaw clenched.

“Be scared, then,” he said. “Take whatever time you need. Just don’t decide for me that I’m better off without you.”

Then he closed the final distance between us.

His arms wrapped around me, firm and protective, and I collapsed into him. My face buried in his chest, his scent surrounding me and his heartbeat steady against my cheek.

“Impossible,” he responded gruffly.

Without any intention of letting me go, he held me tightly, and I let myself be held, wishing the anguish away.

Wanting it cut out of me.

The past continued to press along the borders of my being.

Punishing.

Fighting.

Trying to worm itself into the present.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

TRISTAN

I made this trip with my old man. They were formative years. Years I’d do anything to go back and relive again.

“The Rockies don’t care how tough you think you are, Tris,” he used to say. “They’ll find out for themselves.”

The road curled through stone and earth like an old scar. I kept both hands on the wheel while our sky-blue van dragged dust behind it.

Here I was. A man worn down by backroads, cheap motel mirrors, and all the things he never said out loud. With eyes that had watched too many sunrises and sunsets alone, and fingers that never stopped moving, strumming, tapping, urging songs out of the air like the rhythm was the only thing that ever answered back.

I thought of the grief that had nearly choked the life out of me. The grief that would have sent me spiraling if she hadn’t appeared.

I didn’t miss my old life. Didn’t miss the hustle. The phone and talking screens. The static of this world wasn’t worth the signal.