Page 118 of After We Fall

“You’re a hypocrite,” I say, my voice gaining strength. “You say the beauty’s in the wild, but you can’t handle the mess of relationships. You think I’m structured? What is your life, Luke? Make no mistake about it, you live by a set of rules. You don’t land long enough in one place to let anything get out of your control. But life’s messy with other people in it. That’s the beauty.”

Something in my chest pounds against my ribs, demanding to be let out.

“The numbers,” I say to myself, rubbing the spot above my heart. “Those stupid numbers.”

“What are you talking about?”

Every emotion and matching number fires at me all at once. Only, instead of maxing out on my scale of ten, they are skyrocketing off the chart. Anxiety is at a twelve. Outrage hits an eighteen. Hurt climbs past thirty-seven. Fear pushes the envelope at sixty-two.

But as my chest rises and falls, I can feel courage. It climbs with a steady pace, handling each feeling one at a time. It nudges anxiety off the rungs like it’s weightless. It takes a good swat at outrage, a hard shove at the hurt, then it rears back and kicks fear into the next room. What I didn’t understand as courage made each move was that it has a partner. And the second that courage overcame the other feelings, it revealed its power source—the one thing that provided it the strength to push through and dispose of every other feeling.

Love.

Love stands at the top of the ladder, arms held high, conquering every feeling, leaving them destroyed in its wake.

I clutch my chest and whisper, “I love you.”

He blinks, his fierce eyes locked on me.

“I love you, Luke. I’d tell you that I love you at a ten, but that’s not enough. I love you at a twenty-five. I love you at a two hundred.” Hot tears stream down my face. “But those numbers aren’t enough. They don’t quantify it correctly. They don’t say it right.” I hiccup a sob. “All of them. All the numbers. I love you all the numbers, Luke Granger.”

He stands stock-still, only the muscles at his jaw twitching rapidly.

“I’m a mess. My life took a sharp turn. All my plans went out the window right along with my ability to execute them. I can’t do the things I usually do to cope with life. To perform. To prove my worth. I just have to sit in this season of life, wondering what’s going to happen next. I’m emotional.” I swallow. “I have no idea what to do with these tears, or with this love for you. It’s messy.” I sear my gaze into his and point my finger to the floor. “But for the first time since my mother died, I’m living. Fully. Feeling. Risking. Living. And I have you to thank for that.”

I calm my breathing, step toward him, and place a hand on his arm. I gentle my voice and say, “My question for you, Luke, is are you living? Fully. Feeling. Risking.”

His body stays rigid, and I know I have to go.

With no response from him, I walk to the exit. I pause at the doorway, holding the frame and turning his direction. “You once said you wanted to be the safe person for me to love. You got your wish, Luke. I love you. I can’t be bothered with whether you’re still safe to love or not because it’s already done. I love you. Wholly. Completely.” I sigh. “So I’m going to return the favor to you. I’m going to be the safe person for you to blame. And I say this with full understanding that I don’t know the future, and this might not ever come to fruition. But I’ll also be the safe person for you to love.”

All my feelings. All the numbers. I leave them scattered on the floor at Luke’s feet.

But I take one thing with me.

Peace.

And maybe a significant amount of sadness.

27

I threw away my armor.

The four-inch heels. The pencil skirts. The flowing silk shirts that screamed femininity with no small amount of power.

I threw it all away.

Okay, in reality, I moved each piece to the back of my closet.

There will be a place for them again, someday. Maybe.

Today, I don upscale gray leggings with a silvery shimmer, a long, navy tunic sweater belted at the waist with a silver chain-link, and a pair of suede platform Steve Madden slip-ons. Gone is the sleek, tight power ponytail. In its place is a clip that holds my hair loosely at the neck.

It’s not that I don’t like my new clothes. It’s that I’m uncomfortable with this new kind of exposure. But there’s no place for my armor anymore, no need for it now.

A knock sounds at the back door of Twelve Bluebells, and I reach for the doorknob. Deep breath. Here goes.

When I open the door, Meredith’s eyes travel down to my toes and back up to my face. We haven’t seen each other since the funeral, but I texted her with the news of Luke’s decision about our relationship. “You look amazing,” she says, leaning in for a hug. It’s a long embrace, a wordless clutch full of the things girls say to each other when they experience a breakup.