Fighting Silence (19 page)

I only felt it through a searing pain in my heart when Till yelled, “We can’t do that!”

I blinked at him. I’d expected this to some degree. I had known that Till would overthink us taking this step, but I was nowhere near ready for the wild eyes that stared back at me.

I did my very best to remain calm as I asked, “And why not, exactly?”

“Because it won’t work and then you’ll be gone.” He stated his assumption as if it were a definitive fact I could look up in an encyclopedia.

“That’s not true. Forever, remember?” I tried to ease his mind, but he was already dragging on his clothes, ready to bolt. “Just chill out. Please. Sit down and let’s talk.” I pulled my robe on and watched as he started pacing the length of my bed.

“I can’t be with you, Doodle. Not in the way you want.”

“Um, why the hell not?”

He opened his mouth, but I quickly cut him off.

“And I swear to God, if you say the words ‘fantasy’ or ‘reality,’ I will lose my fucking mind.”

“Because I can’t lose you. I need—”

“Or that! Don’t say that! You can’t be with me because you can’t lose me? What the actual fuck does that even mean?” I yelled.

“It means what if we don’t work out as more!” He matched my intensity. “We are good at friends. Let’s stick with that.”

“Well, what if I decide to move to Zimbabwe to become a missionary?”

He arched his eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought we were playing the ‘what-if’ game,” I replied sarcastically. “Because my what-if is just as plausible as yours. Hell, maybe even more likely.”

“Stop fucking around and be serious here.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” I sucked in a deep breath, grasping for some semblance of calm that had obviously escaped me. “Till, you cuddle with me during scary movies and take out my trash if you notice it’s full,” I stated, and he stopped pacing long enough to tilt his head in confusion. “I cook for you almost five days a week and do well over half of your laundry after the ‘black sweater with the white towels’ fiasco. You are the first person I run to when I’ve had a bad day because you wrap me in your arms so it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. You’ve never, in eight years, missed my birthday or, miraculously, a single night when I’ve made twice-baked potatoes. We lean on each other in virtually every facet of life. When you’ve had a bad day, I’m not sure if I’m the first person you run to, but I know for a fact that I’m the only person you fully trust to unload on. You would protect me with your life, and I would do the same for you. If you have a problem, I solve it—”

“That’s actually Vanilla Ice.”

“
And
I laugh at your jokes even when you tell them at completely the wrong times.”

“Sorry,” he said with an unapologetic shrug.

“We love each other ferociously—and if the last few days are any indication, we are undeniably attracted to each other sexually too. Till, we’ve been basically married for a long time. Facing the facts won’t change anything.”

“I can’t risk that it will, Eliza.”

“Well, it’s too late. We took the risk last night, and not five minutes ago, we were risking it all over again. I love you. That’s not ever going to change.”

“Bullshit! It
will
change. You’re right. We do lean on each other for almost everything, and if you weren’t here, I’d end up flat on my ass. Those six months when we were apart damn near destroyed me. I love you and would go to the ends of the Earth to keep you. But I am
not
fucking this up by trying to make it into something it may or may not be.”

“Oh, but you were okay with fucking
me
up last night?”

He grimaced. “Don’t act like that. That’s not fair. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Not fair? Oh, so now, we’re talking about fair? Well, let me tell you how fucking
not fair
this is to me. I fell in love with a man whose fantasy is crawling through my window to escape reality. All the while,
my
fantasy is walking out that door to navigate reality by his side. I’m pretty sure
that
is the definition of not fair.”

“Eliza.” He shook his head.

“No. Shut up. I’m so sick of living in your goddamn fantasy. You know what, fuck it!” I grabbed his hand and dragged him out of my room.

He didn’t put up as fight as we headed toward the front door, but he threw on the brakes the moment I snatched it open.

“Stop,” he said quietly.

“Come on, Till. We’ve been doing it your way for eight fucking years. It’s my turn.” I was beyond the point of rationality. I was madder than I could remember ever being, but not one single tear fell from my eyes. I really was done.

His feet didn’t budge.

“Let’s go!” I yelled again, pulling on his arms.

I’m not sure what I was trying to prove. I just wanted my fucking way for once. It wasn’t an issue of if Till wanted me or not, loved me or not, or could have me or not. It was all about his silly little need to keep me squirreled away because he was scared I’d eventually leave. He couldn’t understand that leaving him would have killed me too. I couldn’t have done it even if the world suddenly caught fire. I would have died at his side before my legs would have carried me away.

He silently stared at me as the tears finally made it to my eyes. I walked past him, and he turned, snagging my arm and dragging me into a hug.

“I love you. I swear I do. Please let that be enough,” he pleaded, stroking my hair and holding me tight.

We were it for each other, and there was nothing but a little boy’s dream world standing in our way.

“Okay. We’ll be fine.” I sniffled and stepped out of his grasp.

His whole body sagged as his chin dropped to his chest and his eyes closed in relief.

And then I ended it.

I rushed forward, and with both hands, I shoved Till as hard as I possibly could. Catching him off guard, I sent him stumbling out the door.

He stood dazed and in shock. His mouth hung open as his eyes blinked rapidly. It was physically painful for me to witness, but it had to be done.

“The fantasy’s over. Let me know when you’re ready to use the door.” With one swift push, I slammed the door on my relationship with Till Page.

I didn’t lock it. I actually stood there willing him to rush back through. He could be as mad as he wanted if he would just open that door and walk inside. I didn’t budge until I heard his footsteps head toward my bedroom. I sprinted back to my room, and just as he approached, I slammed the window too.

His gentle eyes turned murderous. “Open the fucking window,” he demanded through the glass.

“No.”

“Open the window!” he shouted.

“No more, Till. I love you, but I’m sick of living in your fantasy. My door will always be open for you.” Tears fell from my eyes as I watched each word land on his gorgeous face. “No more windows. No more pretending.”

“Eliza, don’t do this. We’ll start over. Go back to friends.”

“I can’t go back to that. Not after experiencing what we can be together.”

“Doodle! Open the window.” He pounded the heel of his hand against the brick building.

“Goodbye, Till.”

His eyes went wide as I slowly lowered the blinds. “Stop. Eliza!” he yelled until I drew the curtains.

Half of me expected him to shatter the glass to get back inside, but I guessed that would have ruined his magical window forever.

After several minutes, I heard him make his way back upstairs, which was immediately followed by several minutes of him yelling and breaking things. I couldn’t listen to any of it. I pulled my headphones on, curled into a ball on the bed, and allowed myself to lose it too.

I couldn’t lie to myself. There was always something romantic about Till’s crawling in my window and the way it made me feel to be so special that he was afraid to use the door. He wasn’t delusional—he knew the truth. But, sometimes, in the world we lived in, where everything was a struggle, it was easy to become dependent on the things that numbed the chaos. Some people turned to drugs or alcohol as an escape. But I had Till . . . and he had the fantasy.

IT EXPLODED. ONE MINUTE, I was holding her in my arms as she came calling my name. And minutes later, she was gone. I nearly tore down the building that night. I sure as hell destroyed my room. In all seriousness, I considered prying up the floorboards and dropping into her bedroom through the ceiling. It was crazy, but that was exactly how my life felt too. Flint came to check on me, but he didn’t ask a single question about why I was suddenly on a rampage against my furniture. It was safe to assume he and Quarry had heard the whole thing and knew what a delusional fool their brother was.
Outstanding.

For a full twenty-four hours, I wallowed. I had no choice but to go to work. I went through the movements, but my mind was consumed with all things Eliza. I was a zombie. My mind scattered through scenarios that would get her back, but I knew there was only one solution—the impossible.

The first night without her, I snuck down to purgatory and left a new sketchpad against her window.

The second night, I stared a hole in my floor.

The third, I lay in my bed and talked to her—at least I hoped she could hear me.

I confessed to every time I had copped a feel and disguised it as something innocent over the years. I was completely unaware of how long that list really was until I hit the two-hour mark.

I missed her.

It had been three days, and I craved her on every level. She would come around though. We’d talk it out and go back to how we used to be. But what honestly pained me was that, even though I knew the way it had to be, I didn’t want to go back to being friends. I wanted to crawl through the floor and bury myself inside her.

I threw myself into the only thing that seemed to distract me—On The Ropes.

“What’s up, Leo?” I shook his hand, but he pulled it in for a back pat.

“Not much, man. How the hell are you guys doing?”

Leo James was the head of Slate and, his wife, Erica’s security team. He was up at the gym a good bit and often brought his family with him. I couldn’t quite figure out the dynamic with that group, but I thought maybe Leo and Erica were related somehow. They were super close, but for as protective as Slate was over Erica, he never seemed fazed in the slightest by how tight they were.

“We’re good. Jesus. You running a day care in here?” I stepped away as I was almost plowed over by an angry heard of toddlers.

Slate and Erica had two kids; Adam was three, and Riley was still a baby. I’d have been hard-pressed to take a guess at her age though. Then Leo and his wife, Sarah, had Tyler, who was two, and an eight-year-old daughter named . . .

“Hey, Liv,” Quarry greeted from behind me.

“Hey, Q,” she responded shyly before going back to playing with Adam.

“It sure as hell feels like it sometimes,” Leo responded with a laugh. “We’re headed out to dinner, and Slate said you’d watch the kids.”

“What?” I asked as my eyes flew to Slate, who was chatting with Erica on the other side of the room.

“Yeah. It’s an overnight thing. I packed extra diapers, so you should be good. Just keep an eye on the boy. I snuck him a few Pixy Stix on the way over. He’s gonna be wired.”

Erica must have read the fear in my eyes from across the room, because she shouted, “Leave him alone! Ignore him, Till. We’re meeting a friend here then heading out.
With
the kids.”

“Oh thank God,” I breathed, causing Leo and Slate to burst into laughter.

“Speaking of . . .” Slate nodded to the gym door.

A big, tattooed dude and a smoking-hot blonde came walking in arm in arm.

“Where are the kids?” Sarah yelled with disappointment.

“Wow. It’s great to see you too, sis,” the blonde said sarcastically. “We left them with Brett and Jesse. There is no way we are finally going out of town, getting a nice hotel room,
and
bringing the kids with us.”

“I told you I had a nanny!” Erica whined, obviously sharing Sarah’s disappointment.

“Look, we haven’t been alone since the twins were born.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and the man at her side smirked.