Charlotte felt like she was coming off a drug, wired and depleted all at once.
She focused on Reece’s heartbeat, solid like the rhythm of an old watch.
Reece pressed his forehead to the back of her neck. She shivered at the delicate touch. “I’m sorry too,” he said.
Charlotte frowned. “For what?”
Reece’s fingers twitched between hers, but he didn’t let go. “For not protecting you at the party.”
She remembered that dreadful interaction at the bar. From her perspective, Reece had played silent witness to one of the worst moments of her life. He was an innocent bystander watching a car crash, utterly blameless. He didn’t need to apologize.
“I had no idea what to do. He was sleazing all over you and I froze. I didn’t want to make a scene if that wasn’t what you wanted, but you obviously wanted him to leave you alone. I should have done something.”
A strange emotion she couldn’t identify spread through her chest. Of course Reece understood her behavior at the party. Of course he didn’t think less of her for fawning over Ben. She always underestimated him.
Gratitude. This feeling was called gratitude. It sat butter yellow in her throat, warring with her irritation that he’d somehow found a way to blame himself.
“And then you doubled over, and I didn’t know if you were sick from drinking or having a panic attack or what.” Reece’s fist clenched under her hand. “I couldn’t do anything. I was just in the way.”
If there was something Reece Krueger would never be, it was just in the way.
Charlotte twisted in his arms to face him. His mouth was a pained grimace. She recognized the expression from so many nights at support group: He looked the same way whenever he talked about his dad.
Helpless. A muted mauve color, sad and frail.
“I don’t want to make you running into Ben about me, because it’s not,” he said firmly. “I just…wish I’d helped.”
“You do help. You help everyone.” Charlotte curled her fingers into the collar of his shirt and gave him a shake. “You’re helping Jio with the wedding, and you’re helping Jackie find a therapist for her dad, and you help your mom all the time.”
“Yeah, but I don’t help you.” Reece’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t help when you were hurting senior year. I didn’t help tonight.”
She couldn’t bear the tattered look on his face. Charlotte cupped his cheek in her palm. His lips were pillow-soft as she ran her thumb across his mouth. “Please stop. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it.”
Reece’s eyebrows folded together, his brand-new worry lines multiplying.
Shit, that came out terribly. For the second time tonight, she was going about this all wrong. In the moments that mattered, she could never find the words to capture what she really felt.
What had she yelled at him outside the tent?
I don’t want your help. I don’t need you.
What she actually meant went something like…I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed to let you see me like this.
Reece’s lips parted underneath her thumb, his breath wicking across her skin. Something about the image of Reece’s mouth opening at her touch felt so vulnerable. He wasn’t afraid to grant her access to his little soft spaces. Not right away, not all at once, but he let her in eventually. When he was ready.
His trust gave Charlotte the confidence she needed. She wanted to tell him the truth. To tell herself the truth, really.
“What I mean is that I don’t know how to ask for help when I need it.”
She had never put that thought into words. She’d never wanted to before. Doing so meant admitting to the kind of wound that risked defining you: the absent father, the abusive mother, the self-reliance that kept you alive even as it held you apart from people who might love you better. A thin line separated not needing help and thinking you didn’t deserve it.
Understanding dawned on Reece’s face. Her hand fell from his lips as he gathered her in his arms and tucked her head underneath his chin.
Reece pressed a kiss into her hair and held her tight. Strange, how absolutely herself she felt surrounded by his strength. If she wanted to move, he’d let her go in an instant, and that simple knowledge made her never want to move again. She wriggled closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. Her fingers found the bottom of his shirt and stole upward to trace his skin.
“You are wonderful,” he murmured into her hair.
Charlotte held her breath. Her hand stilled its tender exploration of his back. If she’d been any other girl, she might have found his words romantic. Instead, her lungs threatened to crumple like an empty wasp’s nest.
Goddamn it, enough of this. Reece had no reason to lie to her. She wanted to believe him.
“You’re not a fan of compliments, are you?” Humor tipped his words, infusing them with curiosity rather than frustration. Reece shifted her in his arms so that he could see her expression. Green eyes peered at her in an invitation to explain. He wasn’t criticizing her, just trying to understand.
Guilt pooled in her chest. Stupid goddamn defense mechanisms. She studied the well-past-five-o’clock shadow dusting his jaw. “I’m sorry, I— Thank you.”
“But…” Reece prompted her.
But. Why did she hate compliments so much?
She supposed she didn’t have the best track record with them. Ben doled out compliments like loose change, cheap and easy. On his worst days he used them as currency to balance his tab of nastiness. She wasn’t pathetic, she was brilliant. She wasn’t a stupid bitch, she was ravishing. A vague you’re beautiful bought her forgiveness. Ben used praise to bail himself out.
“I’m used to them being bullshit.” Charlotte pressed her palm against Reece’s chest, grounding herself as she parsed her hang-ups. As much as it came as a relief to unburden herself like this, it hurt somewhere deep and vital to churn up buried soil. “Manipulative, I guess.”
Reece’s voice slipped an octave lower. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”
“I know you’re not.” She forced herself to look him in the eye. “I guess I have trouble believing it sometimes,” Charlotte continued. She worried her lip between her teeth as she separated insecurity from self-awareness. On a cognitive level she could see herself clearly, more or less. But believing it wasn’t easy. “Like, I know I’m smart. I work hard. People seem to really like my hair.”
“Because it’s beautiful,” Reece growled, grasping a loose curl. He gave it a playful tug.
