Fighting Silence (On the Ropes #1)(41)

“The same way it’s always worked,” I said. “Only now, you get to see me naked.”

“So, like, friends with benefits?”

“Uh. No,” I stated firmly. “Like two people who love each other and have decided to take it to another level and actually be together.”

It wasn’t storming outside, so I couldn’t be completely certain, but judging by how quickly Till scrambled off the bed, I decided that he must have been struck by lightning.

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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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 f*cking this up by trying to make it into something it may or may not be.”

“Oh, but you were okay with f*cking 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 f*cking 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, f*ck 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 f*cking 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.