Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,107
out.”
“Men,” Blair muttered. “They’re such fixers. And he’s looking to paint the front door when the wood is rotten.”
“Exactly.” I sniffed again. Took a sip of coffee. “I think even Mariah’s therapist knew something was up, because he mentioned her name during our argument. I wonder if she suggested he talk to someone professional.”
“Maybe,” Blair said. “It certainly sounds like he needs it.”
I exhaled, closing my eyes. “I was kind of afraid you were going to tell me I was being too demanding. That I shouldn’t have walked out when all he asked for was more time before we move in together.”
“Not at all! You’re only demanding one thing—honesty. Okay two things—honesty and a willingness to conquer those demons.”
“I thought love conquered all,” I said, tears welling again. “But it doesn’t.”
“Oh, honey.” She slid off her stool and wrapped her arms around me. “I’m so sorry.”
“I really thought this was it,” I sobbed. “I thought for once I didn’t pick the unavailable person. I thought I wouldn’t end up disappointed. I thought finally my feelings for Cole made sense. I thought he’d chosen me.”
“He did, sweetie. He really did.” She rubbed my back. “And I know that he loves you and he’s going to be sorry.”
From the bottom of the stairwell, we heard the door open and close.
“Don’t tell him,” I whispered.
“Okay, but he’s going to know something is up,” she whispered back.
Quickly, I dried my eyes and took another sip of coffee.
A moment later, Griffin appeared at the top of the steps, looking sweaty and disheveled in sweatpants and a hoodie. “Hey.”
“Morning,” I said without meeting his eyes.
“Cole here?” he asked, going over to the fridge.
“No.”
Griffin took the orange juice out, turned around, and leaned back against the counter. “What’s wrong?”
I decided there was no point in lying. My brother wasn’t an idiot. “Cole and I broke up.”
His eyebrows peaked. “Seriously?”
“Yes. On Christmas Eve.”
“Damn.” He took a drink right from the carton. “What happened?”
“Griffin!” Blair took a glass from the cupboard and handed it to him. “What have I told you about that? It grosses me out.”
“Why? You don’t even drink O.J.”
“Because we are not Neanderthals without proper drinkware. Use the glass, please.”
Griffin rolled his eyes but poured juice from the carton into the glass. “So what happened with Cole? I thought everything was good.”
“It was . . . but it also wasn’t, and he never told me.”
“Huh?”
I took a deep breath. “I think Cole is scared of being happy with me because of what happened to him before. He doesn’t believe happiness can last.”
Griffin took a drink and nodded thoughtfully. “I could see that about him.”
“And I think after he asked me to move in with him, it hit him really hard. But even before that—as soon as he realized how happy Mariah was about the whole situation—he was kind of freaking out internally, but wouldn’t admit it. I could tell something was off with him, but he just kept saying he was fine.”
“Sounds like Cole.”
It struck me that Griffin was Cole’s best friend. He knew him better than anyone. “Has Cole ever mentioned anything to you about, like, panic attacks?”
“No. But I do know that he had pretty bad nightmares as a kid.”
Blair and I exchanged a look. “He’s having them again,” I said. “Only he refused to admit it. And then in a weird twist, he tried to tell me Mariah was having nightmares.” I told him about my conversations with my mother and Mariah, and then my argument with Cole.
Griffin’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Jesus. You gotta feel bad for him.”
“I do,” I said helplessly, my eyes tearing up again. “But I can’t help him if he won’t even talk to me.”
“Has Cole ever seen a therapist?” Blair asked Griffin. “Like maybe after Trisha died?”
“I don’t remember,” he said. “I just remember him being really focused on Mariah. From that point on, all he cared about was her. I think he swept a lot of shit under the rug.”
I nodded. “I think so too. But it was always there, and now that it’s uncovered, he needs to deal with it. Except he won’t.”
“He won’t talk to a therapist?” Griffin asked.
“Nope. He said therapy is for women and kids.”
Blair made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes. “Why do men think they have to be so tough all the time? It’s okay to show your emotions.”
“He did show them,” I said, grabbing another tissue. “And he talked about them. He told me he