Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(48)

He threw an arm around me, getting me in an affectionate headlock. “Are you making fun of the teacher?”

“I would never,” I said, laughing as he squeezed me tight. “Not after such an enjoyable class, although I’m not sure I learned all my lessons. I might need a review session.”

“That can definitely be arranged—maybe even tonight.” He loosened his hold on me just enough for me to turn and face him.

“I wish I could,” I said, running my hands up his chest, “but I have to head back. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I should come tonight. I almost canceled.”

“Why?”

I shook my head. “Just some stuff with Whitney.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I played with one of the buttons on his shirt. “I don’t want to bore you with my problems. I feel like I’m always complaining to you.”

“Stop.” He lifted my chin. “You never bore me. And it’s not complaining—I asked. Is everything okay?”

“She’s okay. She just broke a rule I have about social media—she’s not allowed to have it, but I found out that she created an Instagram account and posted a bunch of pictures of herself.”

He looked slightly terrified. “What kind of pictures?”

“Nothing risqué. Mostly just her face in full makeup, lots of pouting selfies. And her bio said something like, ‘I’m just a girl who wants to feel beautiful.’”

“Oh.”

“But it won’t help to have her mother scream at her that she is beautiful.”

“Probably not.”

“I know it’s nothing a million other teenage girls aren’t doing, but I don’t like it. And I hate that she’s hiding it from me. I want her to feel like she can talk to me about anything.”

“Are you thinking this has something to do with the divorce? Like she’s acting out to get your attention?”

“No, I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s more like . . . like she’s lacking something and she thinks likes on Instagram are going to deliver it. The divorce left this giant hole in all of us where our family used to be, and we’re all trying to deal with it in different ways. Whitney’s trying to cover it with makeup, Keaton is trying to stuff it with junk food, and I’m . . .” I groped for words.

“Trying to fill it with a big dick?” He frowned. “Sorry, that was totally inappropriate.”

I laughed. “But not entirely inaccurate. I do think what we’re doing is helping me get over some of my issues. But I’m an adult. Whitney is still a child. And she’s in such a fragile state right now, one mean comment might destroy her. And people can be horrible on social media. I just want to protect her.”

Henry pulled me in close and held me tight. “I know. And I shouldn’t make jokes. You guys have been through so much.”

I rested my cheek on his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist, wishing I could take the warm strength of his embrace with me when I left here tonight. “Thanks for being here for me. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. You’ll figure this out. Whitney doesn’t strike me as the type to use defiance as a weapon.”

“She isn’t. She’s a good girl. I think she’s more . . . insecure than defiant.” I took a breath. “And I get that. God, do I get that.”

He rubbed my back but didn’t say anything.

“In fact, one of the reasons I was going to cancel tonight was because I felt like a huge hypocrite—how can I judge her for wanting to do things that make her feel beautiful? I drove through a blizzard last night in a red dress and heels just so you’d look at me that way. And want me that way. And . . . like me.”

He laughed a little. “I did like you, didn’t I?”

I nodded and smiled up at him. “You liked me three whole times.”

“And did those three likes make you feel better about yourself?”

“Immeasurably.” I snuggled into his chest again.

“Then try not to be too hard on her.” He kissed the top of my head. “Or on yourself. We’re all just stumbling our way through life, hoping to arrive at the right destination. If something makes you feel good on the way, why not do it?”

I thought about his words as he walked me home, as he bid me farewell with a chaste hug in case anyone happened to be watching, as I shed my layers of winter clothing and joined the kids and my parents in the family room. The movie was over, and they were playing a board game now. They invited me to play too, and even offered to start the game over, so I couldn’t say no.

But I kept thinking about Henry. I wished he were here. I could smell him on me. I heard his voice in my head . . . If something makes you feel good, why not do it?

It seemed like such a fearless attitude to have, and it made me think about the opposite too—if something makes you feel bad, why not stop it? For so long, I’d lived in fear of being abandoned, of being alone and having to start over, of failing. And I let that fear prevent me from leaving a marriage that not only didn’t fulfill me, but robbed me of joy, of confidence, of self-worth.

But those days were over.

We could bloom here, all of us. I could feel it.

In the back of my mind, that voice reminded me that part of the new start I’d envisioned for myself meant learning to be happy on my own, and this thing with Henry did not exactly mesh with that plan. Becoming dependent on Henry to validate my own self-worth wasn’t any better than what I was doing before, was it? And what made me think I could trust him?