Mine Would Be You (56)

I can’t take any more, can’t hear any more of this when he doesn’t mean it. When it’s all just to keep me close enough that he doesn’t have to be alone. I’m sick of being gaslighted by him, but I don’t know how to get away from the heat, the fire that’s burning me over and over again.

“But I just—maybe we should take more time. I don’t know. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what to say to you.”

I want to make him stop touching me, hating that because I’m comfortable with him I allow it. Allow myself to be strung along over again for love. When really, he doesn’t love me, not enough, not like I love him. If he loved me, he wouldn’t be hurting me.

If he really loved me, he’d let me go. And if I was secure enough, strong enough, confident that someone else might love me in the future, I’d walk away. But I know that I won’t. That I’ll continue to get burned until my skin is scarred forever.

“Hello, Nina?” Harper snaps in front of my face, and I come back to the present. “You okay?”

My chest hurts at the memory that bombarded me, reminding me of how terrible I felt during Myles’s junior year and into his senior year. How I let myself be treated. I can feel the sting all over my skin.

I almost tell her the truth, until I see Roman sitting on the couch, surprising me. I force a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. Hey, Rome,” I say, sitting down at the counter.

He flashes me a bright smile. “What’s good, Nina?”

“Nothing new here, you?” I pull my notes from my bag to go over, the smell of food invading the space.

“Just waiting on this one to finish dinner.” He sits next to me and points to Harper, who’s watching me with sharp eyes. I look away.

“Patience is not your virtue,” Harper grumbles with her back to us, bent over the oven, and when she stands, she’s got pork chops in one pan and mashed potatoes in another. “Is this okay?”

Rome purses his lips, faking disdain, and I take a small sip, trying to shake off the residual memory of Myles’s ghost. “I don’t know, what about veggies?”

Harper death glares me. “There’s fresh green beans.”

“I’m allergic,” Roman declares, his lips forced into a straight line, but humor dances in his eyes that Harper can’t see as she lets out a huge gasp with wide eyes.

“Are you fucking serious right now? How allergic?”

“Deadly.”

I cover my mouth and focus on my paper to try and hold in my laughter, happy for the distraction. Rome hits my leg with his, and I bite my tongue.

“Well, that’s just fantastic. What am I going to do? These are things you should tell the person making you dinner, you know. As a courtesy. Like—”

Rome starts laughing deeply, and he tries to draw in a breath. “Harps, I’m fucking with you.”

Harper turns around from pulling the green beans off the stove with a vengeance. Her gray eyes are laser focused on Roman’s amused face, and I keep silent to avoid making matters worse.

“You’re a punk,” she says and throws a green bean directly at his face. He catches it smoothly and pops it in his mouth. “A fucking punk.”

“Oh, come on, that was funny. It’s not my fault you’re gullible,” he says, putting his big brown eyes to use as he stares her down softly. Harper rolls her eyes, her annoyed face finally morphing into a soft smile.

Soft Harper. Who would’ve ever thought?

She places each dish on the big countertop, and I stand up to grab plates and utensils and refill everyone’s water. Harper takes her seat next to Roman, and I take over plating all the food before taking my own seat. The soft sounds of the TV fill the room as we fall into a comfortable silence eating.

“It’s delicious, Harper, thank you,” I mutter after swallowing a mouthful.

She sends me a wink. “Anything for you.” I roll my eyes and continuing to eat.

“So, I heard about dinner next week. With your parents.”

Both my head and Harper’s swing to stare at Roman. He’s got a stupid smile on his face.

“Excuse me?”

He nods, taking a bite and chewing so slowly that I’m sure it’s on purpose. “Yeah, Jackson is super excited. He literally won’t shut up about it. He’s like a kid in a candy store.”

“For gods sakes. My mom’s gonna like him more than she likes me.” I shove another bite of food into my mouth anxiously. Anxious about dinner. Anxious about all of it.

Anxious about letting someone get close to me again. The past few times I saw him I felt okay, making cookies in the kitchen, kissing him, feeling secure. But right now, I just feel dread, terrified of being hurt again.

“Trust me, he’s also nervous,” Rome says. “He wants to impress you. All the time.”

My heart flutters in my chest deeply, despite my inner thoughts, and I feel warmth on my neck as I cast my eyes down towards my plate. God damn Jackson. Even when he’s not around, he’s around, trying to make me feel better.

“Well, you can tell him that he does a good job of it,” I say softly. Hoping it sticks in my brain. Because he does. He does his best. Jackson has pursued me relentlessly, without abandon and without question of what he wants.