“Did something happen?” she questioned.
Shit. This was another reason I didn’t tell people things. Because a nugget of information was like an onion. You had to peel back all the layers to get to the core before people were satisfied.
At this point, I could say yes without elaborating, which would be the safer choice, or tell her what had been weighing on me for a while now and see if getting it off my chest would make me feel lighter.
Most of the time, suppression was my go-to. But look where that had gotten me—a life filled with isolation and nothing to show for my efforts.
“My girlfriend broke up with me and took the best part of who I was.” That sounded so pathetic, but it was true. I was a shell of a person pretending to be whole.
When I felt a sudden touch on my thigh, I let out a piercing scream and jolted in my seat.
“I’m sorry.” Shiloh yanked her hand back so fast that she jerked the car but safely righted it. “I didn’t mean to do that. I was trying to let you know you’re not alone.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. I do. I’m just jumpy. It’s been a long time since anyone… comforted me.” I guess that was what she was doing, but my mind was already jumbled.
And when her soft fingers brushed against my bare skin in one of the holes of my jeans, it sent my body into fight-or-flight.
“I’m keeping my hands on the wheel.” She had it firmly gripped at ten and two. “But, Caz, please hear me when I say this. You have not lost the best part of yourself. Do you realize the impact you have on people? You can make someone’s day with a wink. You ooze charisma; underneath that tough exterior is a kind-hearted, loving person.”
I was unsure how to respond. No one had ever seen me as the heroine. If anything, I was the smartass who needed to watch her mouth—at least, that was what I had heard for most of my childhood.
Emotions sloshed around inside of me, and by the time she stopped the car in front of my condo, I realized they had moved outward in the form of tears. I never cried, but my eyes were leaking, and I couldn’t seem to stop.
She turned toward me, but I hoped she couldn’t tell what my face was doing since it was dark. “Do you want me to come in or leave you?”
I was afraid to talk because my voice might give it away, but it didn’t matter. There was only one thing I needed right now: her.
Chapter 16Shiloh
Caz was struggling, but she seemed to like to suffer in silence. The last thing I wanted to do was pressure her to talk, but I also didn’t want her to feel alone after she unleashed something so heavy. I figured I would give her the option, but after I asked if she wanted me to stay or go, she sat there, unmoving.
“I’ll let you get to it.” I didn’t want her to feel guilty about telling me to leave.
“Please stay.” Her words were choked, and if I didn’t know any better, I would think she was crying.
“Are you sure?”
She wrapped her fingers around mine, and she was cold, but warmth shot through my core, and I wanted to hug her—to tell her it was okay to cry on my shoulder. But I patiently waited for her next move.
“Yes,” she whispered and removed her hand, but I missed the contact immediately.
She said nothing else as she opened the door. I turned off the car and followed suit. Once we got into the elevator, I could see the sheen from the wells in her eyes, but I didn’t point it out. We rode in silence to her floor and then went inside.
She turned on the lights and looked at me. “Would you like some wine?” she asked as if this were a friendly visit.
“No, thank you. Can I do anything?” Seeing this person, who I thought was so full of confidence, seem so lost right now was heartbreaking.
She stood there, shaking her head, but her eyes were blank and unfocused. I did the only thing I knew and wrapped her in a hug. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached around her neck, pulling her closer. She stayed limp, and I wanted to squeeze her tighter but restrained myself. I read somewhere that hugging someone could boost serotonin and improve your mood. After holding her for a few beats, she awkwardly dropped her forehead to my shoulder.
I rubbed her back and neck to relieve the tension I could feel, but this wasn’t a good angle. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.”
Her body silently shook, and I could feel wetness against my skin. I was used to being the caregiver, but most of the time, it was for people who wanted to be cared for—that wasn’t Caz. She was uncomfortable in this embrace, with her head being the only real point of contact with my body. Her arms were still at her sides, but I moved closer this time. She stiffened, so I released her and guided her to the oversized couch.
“Sit.” I gently urged her, and she did so without resistance.
I slid to her side and started kneading the knots in her back.
“What are you doing?” she questioned in a slightly accusatory tone.
“It’s called a massage.” But I tilted my head to look at her.
“I’m aware, but why are you doing that?” At least her sadness seemed to disappear, but I felt rather stupid.
“To help?” Maybe it made her uncomfortable. Or perhaps she thought I was hitting on her when she was vulnerable. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”
“You don’t have to, but don’t think I’d be good at returning the favor.” She chuckled, probably deflecting her feelings.
“Well, lucky for you, I won’t ask you to do me next.”
“That’s not what she said.” The words flowed from her lips so effortlessly that I didn’t think she realized she had said them.
“Will you knock it off and let me do my thing?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on what ‘your thing’ is,” she teased, but it was good to hear her joking, even if it was at my expense.
“Why do you have to make this awkward?” I nudged her arm.
“I’m sorry.” She bit her lower lip. “My therapist says I use humor as a coping mechanism.”
