Page 99 of Blitz

“When a friend asks for help, you help them,” he says slowly. His eyes lift to meet mine. “You are asking for help, aren’t you?”

I nod. “I need a plan. Here’s what I have figured out…”

Chapter forty-one

Tucker

There’s an insistent knocking on the door. Wes pauses the movie and, being on the end of the couch, I get up to answer it.

Mason is standing on my front porch. She hugs her arms to her chest.

I stare at her in surprise. The cold February wind whirls around her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Tuck,” she says, chewing on her bottom lip.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t care.” Her chin lifts up as she meets my eye.

“Mason.”

“It’s not over until we both say it’s over,” she announces.

My laugh is bitter. “It doesn’t work that way, Princess. You made that pretty fucking clear the first time.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “I was eighteen! I was an idiot! How long are you going to keep punishing me for a mistake I made two and a half years ago?”

I roll my eyes. “Have a good night, Mason.”

Closing the door, it bounces open. She’s stuck her foot in the jamb.

“I’m not leaving until we talk about this,” she declares. From her backpack, she pulls out a bag of whole wheat bread and a jar of creamy Skippy. “We’re going to work through this shit, Tuck. I don’t care how many sandwiches we need. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

My heart gets lodged in my throat. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I love you.” Her eyes are locked on mine. “I love you, and you love me, and we’ve come too damn far to give up like this. So yeah, we’re going to talk. We’re probably going to fight. But I’m still going to love you. That’s not changing any time soon.”

“Mase…”

“Close the fucking door,” Amir yells from the living room. “You’re letting all the warm air out.”

I sigh. “Come in.”

Stepping aside, she follows me into the small foyer. She unzips her coat and hangs it over mine on the hook. She pushes the bread and peanut butter into my hands.

“Do your worst, baby.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Binge eating disorder, that’s what Dave called it. I haven’t binged since the breakup. I had a peanut butter sandwich the other night—one—and that was more because I missed the taste than any desire to emotionally eat.

I’m not going to magically be cured with the help of a label. It’s something I’ve struggled with for a long time, and will probably continue to struggle with for the rest of my life. But naming it, making it real, makes it not so scary. It’s controllable. With the help of therapy and Dave and some extra support from the nutrition staff, it can maybe not control my entire life.

It’s hard. I need to take in so many calories a day to maintain weight. Most of my diet is lean protein, whole grains, and healthy fats with the occasional peanut butter sandwich thrown in. There’s a metric fuck ton of vegetables in there, too. I’m already hyper-aware of my caloric intake. Now my food log will be shared with the nutrition counselors and with Dave. It’s okay if I binge. It’s not the end of the world. We’re working to curb the behavior that leads me onto that path in the first place.

Mason pins me with a look. “Tucker. I’m trying.”