Page 80 of Shut Up and Drive

“Then why did you let him stick around? You’re stronger than that, Pidge.”

Hearing his nickname for me roll off his tongue has a different effect on me this time. It’s one of affection and fun, not belittlement like I always interpreted it to be.

I sigh, not wanting to have this conversation, but knowing we should.

“Rule Number One, Fina,” he says softly.

I look him square in the face and say it before I lose my nerve. “Because, Thane. If I can find someone I’m not super attached to, it doesn’t hurt when they leave. Or cheat on me. Or, in this case, make me the home-wrecker when I had no idea.”

Thane’s face turns quizzical. “What do you mean? He’s married?”

“You know the woman from the restaurant? She wasn’t his side chick. She’s his fiancée.Iam the side chick.”

I cast my eyes down at the ground and try to rein in my shallow breaths. Thane’s hand tips my chin upward.

“Don’t you dare be ashamed of this. The only one who should feel shame for their actions is Brad. You had no idea.”

“I know. But you didn’t have to break the news to his bride-to-be that not only would younotbe making their wedding cake, but that her fiancé was cheating on her too.”

Thane pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry for hurting you so badly that youcan’t trust anyone with your heart,” he says softly, and kisses my hair.

At that, I burst into tears. Once I admitted out loud why I never feel too much or fall too deeply, the floodgates break open and I’m left without defenses.

Thunder rumbles above us and I feel exactly the same inside as the weather does on the outside. Big, fat raindrops start hitting my arms, and Thane tucks me into him tighter to keep me dry. I want to mold into his body. For the world to go away. To finally feel safe. But doubt pulls me back. It’s slight, but loud. So loud, in fact, that I can’t hear anything else.

I step backward. “I need some time to think,” I mumble under my breath, and start to walk away.

I have no idea where I’m going, but I know I need to flee. I quicken my steps when I hear Thane call my name, thinking he’ll give up and retreat. After all, that’s what he did the last time things got tough. My flip flops are slippery from the rain that has grown from a drizzle to a downpour, making it difficult to walk steadily.

So much for a smooth exit. I’m staggering like a drunk clown at a circus.

The tears streaming down my face blend with the rain, and the only indication that I’m crying is the sound of weeping escaping me. It’s foreign to my ears, an out-of-body experience.

That’s when I hear the sound of his footsteps behind me.

My heart begs to turn around and go back to him, to work all this out. But I don’t want to dredge up the hurt I felt when he left. I’m not sure I’ll make it through a painlike that again. I have to protect myself at all costs, because that’s the only way to survive. I pick up my pace, slipping and sliding across the gravel trail.

“Fina! Stop!” he yells from behind me, and I pick up into a sprint.

His steps close in, and I know that if I look behind me, he’ll be right on my heels. So, like an idiot, I keep running.

Then I hear him yell, “Serafina, stop!Please,” and it gets through to me.

He never uses my whole name, but it’s the desperation in his “please” that stills my heart, and I realize what I’m doing:I’mthe one running away. From the one man who can fix what he broke. The one man I’ve waited years to return and do exactly what he’s doing. Sowhyam I running?

Fear.

I’m afraid of this new space where healing occurs, because I’ve lived so long in the sorrow it has almost become comfortable. Even if it’s not a happy place to be, it’s at least familiar. At this moment, I realize that the regret of not knowing how this can end is greater than the fear of it ending badly again.

Against everything that could go wrong, I stop.

He catches up to me in a few strides, hair dripping, chest heaving. For the longest time, we simply share a space while we catch our breath. Our eyes are full of things left unsaid and questions that need answering.

He tucks a dripping-wet strand behind my ear. “You’re the one running now.”

I nod. “I’m afraid of what happens next,” I whisper into the rain between us.

“It might hurt.”