Page 70 of Believe In Us

“Oh, it’s fine.” I cleared my throat, blinking away the tears that stung hot in my eyes whenever I thought about the mess with my once-upon-a-time not-a-friend. “I thought talking to her would put an end to the texts, that’s all.”

He looked dismayed. My phone vibrated with another reminder of the text waiting for me. I took a quick breath. “You read it first.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I trust you completely.” I quickly tapped and held the phone up to my face so it unlocked before handing it over to him. His gaze scanned the screen, his brows hitching upward, a look of thoughtful surprise crossing his face.

“Is that good or bad?” I asked.

“I think you should read it yourself.” He handed me the phone and I scanned it.

This will be my last text. It’s taken me a long time to acknowledge that I destroyed our friendship. I will always miss the friend you were to me and I’m sorry that I didn’t honor that in return. I know I can’t repair it. I think the best I can hope for is maybe I can be a good enough friend to someone else that I’ll understand what this might have been like for you. I’m trying. If you ever want to reach out, of course, my door is open. This is my actual new number, and I’ll be keeping it. Thank you for everything, and I’m sorry.

I didn’t realize tears were spilling down my cheeks until I felt Lincoln’s palm curve along my cheek, his thumb swiping under one eye before shifting to the other before handing me a tissue.

I dabbed at my eyes. “Wow,” I whispered. My voice was a little hoarse from emotion.

“Is that a surprise?”

“I guess.” I let out a breath. “I ended up having a conversation with her. I finally decided I needed to have it, or she was going to bug me forever. Maybe she didn’t deserve to hear from me, but I said my piece. I told her how I felt and that us being friends again was just a never.” My laugh was bitter. “I like to think somehow I’ll get over the bitterness, but mostly it just hurts.”

He pressed another tissue into my hand, and I laughed a little before I blew my nose. “It felt good to finally say it all out loud to her when we talked, but it still stings.”

He nodded slowly. “Of course it does. I’m sorry if I haven’t been there for you.”

“Oh, Lincoln.” I reached for both of his hands, the tissue getting squished between our palms. “It’s just hectic here all the time.” I took a slow breath. “There was losing my baby, and that was just god awful.” My voice was raw, almost as if the pain physically tore my throat. It wasn’t as sharp and breath-stealing as it had been at first, but it still hurt. The edges of it were getting a little softer, a little less like knives being dragged across my heart. “She was my friend, and I just felt so stupid that I didn’t see what was happening. How could I have not seen? I didn’t even trust myself for so long.”

“Do you trust yourself now?” He held my gaze as I paused.

“Yeah. It’s different. I’ll always be a little more skeptical of people.”

“Of course you will. Maybe my stuff is different, but once you feel real hurt and you worry that it has something to do with you, you question just about everything.” He squeezed my hands. “You mean the world to me. You know that, right? I believe in us.”

“Oh, Lincoln.” I squeezed his hands as tight as I could.

The next thing I knew, he gave me a little tug, pulling me out of my chair and over to him. He was only about a foot away, and he coaxed me into his lap. I leaned against his strong, sturdy chest and shoulder. Maybe I did have some big dents in my ability to trust, but I trusted him completely. I believed in him, and I believed in us. We simply sat there, savoring the quiet together.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t walked outside at night,” he said, a thread of humor in his voice.

My lips curled into a smile. “I have noticed.”

“I talked to Delaney about my nightmares. She reminded me of what my first therapist told me.”

“What’s that?” I asked, idly trailing my finger up and down his forearm.

“That I’m probably going to have times when these nightmares happen, but hopefully less. To remember that I’m still okay. It’s not permanent.”

I lifted my gaze to his, lightly drawing my fingertip along his stubbled jawline, which I loved by the way. “Of course it’s not permanent. I’m so sorry about your nightmares.”

“Of course you are. From now on, when I can’t sleep, I’m just going to do inside laps.” His lips kicked up at one corner in a sheepish smile. He smoothed a loose lock of hair off my forehead. “If you wanted, you could come to an appointment with me.”

I straightened, so I could look more directly into his eyes. “Would you want me to?”

“Would I ask you to if I didn’t want you to?” he returned.

“I don’t think so, but I don’t want you to think I expect that.”

“I don’t,” he said softly.