“Mhmm,” he shakes his head. “It’s just that I’ve suppressed everything so far down that I don’t know how to reach it and open it up. I honestly never considered therapy. All my life, my only goal has been to get out of my parents’ house, and after that, I spent all of myself on becoming the best goalie that I can be.”
I nod, understanding dawning upon me. “I getthat. Survival has been your prominent instinct.”
“Yeah, for so long. Tell me, baby, would therapy teach me how to love you?” His sudden question has my eyes widen in surprise.
I think about it and then answer. “It would teach you to loveyourself,” I say, pressing my hand over his heart as it beats beneath my palm. “And what I’ve learned is that to love anyone else, you first need to love who you are.”
“I understand. I’ll talk to a therapist. I realize I have these days when I’m barely alive, and that’s not healthy.” His easy acceptance loosens that noose around my heart.
“I’ll get you a recommendation from Dr. Laura.”
He entwines his fingers with mine over his heart and kisses my nose. “Thank you, baby.”
“Of course, my love.”
“I have a request too.”
“Anything.” I nod.
His eyes dart over my shoulders before coming back to me. “Why did you never tell me that you write?” I detect hurt in his voice.
Following his line of sight, I find my laptop there, and for a second, I wonder if he saw the fan edits I made of his pictures. I open and closemy mouth like a fish before settling on the honest approach. “I was embarrassed,” I sigh, my shoulders dropping.
“Why the hell would you be embarrassed?” He asks, looking genuinely clueless about my misery.
“Because it’s not a real career path,” I scoff, throwing my hands in the air.
Noah’s features instantly harden, his jaw clenching. “Whose words are you parroting, Andie?” he snips.
How does he…Oh, how can I forget that he has that insane ability to read me like a book?
“Literally everybody besides my family, and Aurelia,” I sigh, tired of holding everything in. For just one moment, I want to lean on him.
I want someone whose default setting is not to be on my side to believe in me and my dreams and aspirations. To tell me I’m not stupid to hope.
“Have you ever told anyone that you write?” he asks, his anger receding just a bit.
“No one.”
“Why?” he asks, his hands running soothing circles on the exposed skin on my thighs.
The pain barrels back into me at once, thesecond my memories refresh. “When I decided to drop out of law school and pursue a career in teaching, everyone mocked me, said that I took the easy way out, and that I didn’t have what it takes to be a lawyer. But for me, it was never about if Icoulddo it; it was always about if Iwantedto do it.”
“And look at how far you’ve come without anyone’s help, baby. You’re almost a permanent teacher at the school you work in,” he praises, reminding me that I’ve achieved what I set out to.
“You’re right,” I breathe, thinking what he’s saying.
“I am. So, if your heart says that you should become an author, then you should do everything you can to make it a reality,” Noah encourages, his hands coming up to cup my cheeks. “Besides, I’ve read your book, and it’s a fucking page-turner, Rainbow, and I’m not even into reading,” he says proudly, his words ringing true and sincere.
“Yeah?” I ask, hopeful.
“Hell yeah! I’d never lie to you.” He presses a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering there. “You should submit it to a publisher. You owe itto yourself to see it through the end.”
He’s right. All my life, I’ve spent worrying about what people think of what I do or don’t do. I’ve let the world’s expectations guide me for far too long.
So, I promise him to follow my dream if he tries out therapy.
And when he agrees, despite this nagging sensation at the back of my mind, I force myself to believe that everything will be fine.