25. CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 25

“I’m scared ‘cause I don’t know if you and I are in the same boat”

Same Boat – Lizzy McAlpine

Deon

T he plain beige walls, peppered with abstract art, begin to close around me as I fiddle with one of the fidget toys Nathalie bought me. Sharon—my new therapist—glances at the movement.

“That’s a tough thing to realize,” Sharon says, sitting in the large armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

The bright-colored clothing and quirky glasses give off a comforting, eclectic energy, but Sharon is a serious woman when it comes to unpacking my trauma.

The trauma I realized I carried thanks to Nathalie .

Since the night at her house with our friends, bone-deep fear has gripped my chest. I want it to be real. I want her and Gordie. I want quiet nights at home and date nights at a taco truck. I want to greet her after my games and spend the off-season creating memories.

I’m in love with Nathalie, and more than anything, I want to be brave enough to tell her. But every time I imagine telling her how I feel, my stomach cramps, my head spins, and breathing becomes impossible.

I had been tossing up the idea of therapy since Declan talks so highly about its impacts. He also sings Sharon’s praises, and knowing he trusts her helped me make my decision.

His success working through his past played a part in my choice, but ultimately, it came down to that stupid, highly addicting dating show Nathalie and I watch together.

Each one of those contestants had a tragic backstory. There were tales of betrayal, of lost parents, of battles with their health, but not one of them threw in the towel and decided they were never going to date again.

They didn’t pack up the puzzle and put it away in the closet to collect dust.

That’s when I realized perhaps it wasn’t a logical decision but one based on trauma.

Which led me to book my first session with Sharon, and that was, by far, the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever done.

The first few sessions were surface-level, but something shifted today, and Sharon came prepped with some pointed questions.

I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes of the session trauma dumping on Sharon, telling her about Savannah and Nathalie until I was in tears and she was extending a box of tissues .

All I want is to curl up in bed and hold Nathalie until the thoughts in my mind settle—until I can breathe again, knowing I spent years of my life in a traumatic relationship and I had no idea.

Sharon kindly pointed out that walking on eggshells around someone you love is not normal, and feeling uncomfortable expressing your emotions and thoughts is a sign of an unhealthy relationship.

Kinda wish I had someone like Sharon years ago when I needed her most.

“I don’t know how to fix myself,” I admit.

I can’t escape the thoughts and self-doubts and questions of my worthiness to be what Nathalie needs if I confess to her how I feel.

“Why do you feel there’s anything you need to fix?” Sharon’s head tilts, and I squirm. “Has Nathalie made you feel like you needed to change anything about yourself?”

“No,” I say quickly. Nathalie has allowed me to believe I might be worthy of love, which is why I’m paying Sharon an exorbitant amount of money to sit on her couch. “She doesn’t deserve to deal with my baggage,” I say.

Nathalie deserves more than someone who finds it hard to trust others and can’t tell her he loves her because he’s terrified once he does, she’ll hold all the power to hurt him.

Logically, I know she would never do that, but I can’t escape those thoughts.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but from what you’ve told me, Nathalie is far different from Savannah.”

“She is.”

“And you trust her?”

I nod. More than I trust anyone else in the world.

“So maybe it’s time to trust yourself, Deon. If you’re safe with her—if you trust her—there’s a reason for that."

“I trusted Savannah,” I admit in a whisper. “She had the power to destroy me, and she did. Nathalie has all of that too…”

Sharon shrugs—actually shrugs—and I question the amount of money I pay for her to turn my brain into goop every week.

“If she already has the power, there’s not much you can do, but trust she won’t hurt you.” Her eyes narrow, and I know I’m in for a question that’s going to rock my shit. “Are you not in love with her, or are you preventing yourself from telling her how you feel because you think you’re unworthy of giving and receiving love?”

“What the fuck?” The words tumble from my lips. “It’s not even nine in the morning,” I say, though her words strike true.

“I don’t think sugarcoating gets anywhere with you.”

“Maybe there is a small part that believes I don’t deserve a second chance with love when my first and only experience crashed and burned.”

“Do you give up after a bad play when you’re on the field?” Sharon asks, tapping her pen against her notepad.

“No?”

“So you’re going to give up after one bad relationship?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it? You wouldn’t throw an entire season away after one bad game, so why are you potentially throwing away a lifetime with someone you love because of one bad relationship?”

Her logic settles in my chest, and something clicks. I never thought about it that way before, that quitting is the wrong way to go about it, but rather, I should review the tape and learn what went wrong so I can do better.

Or perhaps, keep searching for the perfect puzzle piece.

“It seems the analogy worked.” Sharon smiles, proud of herself, and I find myself smiling in response.

Making the appointment and showing up for the first session was hard, and each session since has been more difficult than the last, but I feel lighter like the weight of the past is lifting from my shoulders, and I can breathe again.

“Think about that, and we’ll chat after the holidays.”

“Declan, where is the mistletoe?!” Nathalie screams as I walk through the door.

Oh my God…My house was festive before, but now…This rivals the North Pole.

Tinsels everywhere, wrapping around chairs and hanging off furniture. The house smells like cranberries and oranges, and as I walk through the kitchen, there are dozens of Christmas platters shaped like trees and candy canes and gingerbread cookies on the counter, covered in appetizers and snacks.

My girlfriend loves Christmas.

Duly noted.

I slip into the bedroom to change when I choke at the sight of the bed sheets. Gone are the neutral linen sheets Nyla helped me pick out. In their place are bright red and green sheets covered with snowmen and gnomes.

Nowhere is safe. The normal bath mats and towels are replaced with ones that resemble candy canes. Where the hell did she put all of this in her apartment ?

“Bend down!” Nathalie yells, shoving Declan as I enter the living room, forcing herself onto his shoulders. “Okay, now slowly walk toward the entryway so I can hang this.”

They maneuver around the space, avoiding decorations so Nathalie can hang the mistletoe. The discomfort in my chest from the therapy session loosens when she laughs, and I snag a pretzel from a bowl on the counter.

Since she moved in, there has been an abundance of pretzels, and I’ve even found a few of Nathalie’s top-secret hiding spots. A tampon box under the sink screams, ‘Something is hidden in here,’ but I left the pretzels where I found them, knowing I would face her wrath if I ate them like I desperately wanted.

“Deon, come here,” Nathalie calls from Declan’s shoulders. Her eyes dart to the mistletoe she hung, and she gestures for me to stand in the spot before she leans down and places a chaste kiss on my lips. “Oh, it’s weird kissing from this height.”

Declan chuckles before crouching down so she can hop off his shoulders.

I lean in to kiss her again when the doorbell rings, and Nathalie shoots past me.

“They’re here!” she yells, voice brimming with excitement. As she swings the door open, Sharon’s words ring in my mind.

A lifetime with someone you love.

“Everyone has their gifts?”

Nathalie bounces around the room, ensuring everyone brought their Secret Santa gift, and it’s been placed under the tree. She’s been patient, but I can tell she’s been waiting all night for this. First, she showed everyone her decorations, parading the group through my house and pointing at all the things she bought on clearance.

I subtly texted the Seattle Super Spies group chat, telling everyone they needed to pretend they care about the shower curtains. Her excitement is infectious, and the way her eyes brighten as she shares her joy is intoxicating.

Henry seemed genuinely curious about her clearance shopping, but they all lost it when she led them into The Lair and showed them all our Lord of the Rings memorabilia mingling with her Christmas decorations.

I chuckled at the pile of shoes in the corner, like she forgot she needed to put them away in her haste to put up decorations, and they were banished to the forgotten corner.

Once the tour was over, she guided us all to the dining room, where she had candies, frosting, and sprinkles by the dozen for a gingerbread house competition.

To no one's surprise, it became incredibly competitive, but I couldn’t rip my eyes away as Nathalie’s tongue peeked out as she concentrated on adding gumdrops to the roof of her house and building a candy cane fence.

My house fell apart, and my chest burst as she laughed and laughed and laughed.

Throughout it all, Sharon’s words continued to play in my ears.

I’ve never had a Christmas celebration like this, where joy is infectious. Sawyer and Henry smashed their houses together, building what they coined a ‘megahome’. Maren and Jack decorated one house to look like a small greenhouse. Declan’s house was bare, but that’s because he spent the whole time eating the decorations instead of putting them on the house.

Nathalie darts around the living room, the bells on her elf slippers dinging with every step. We’re all sitting in the living room when she stands.

“I’ll start,” she says, grabbing a small bag and a box beneath the tree and handing it to Jack. “One thing I got wasn’t going to make it in time, so I shipped it to your house. It should be there by Christmas.”

Her eyes dart to Maren, who smiles knowingly.

Jack opens the small bag first, choking with laughter as he pulls out a massive shirt. He bends over, the shirt falling slack and Maren snatches it and reads it out loud.

“Nathalie saw my ass and all I got was this t-shirt,” Maren reads as her face turns red and she begins to snort. “This is my new sleeping shirt.”

Nathalie wiggles beside me and she scrunches her lips to prevent a smile. She loves this, watching people open gifts. “Keep going,” she urges, sitting on her hands.

Jack rips the wrapping paper and peels open the box, pulling each item out, one by one. Plant shears. Fertilizer. Stickies to catch gnats. Small glass bottles for cuttings. He pulls out the last item and gasps.

“Is this…?”

“It is,” Nathalie confirms, beaming at the single green and white leaf like it’s a Christmas miracle.

“It looks like a plant,” Declan says, confused, and I have to agree. It looks normal to me.

“This is a rare Monstera Albo cutting,” Jack says, clutching the plant to his chest. “How did you find this?”

Nathalie blushes, leaning slightly into my side.

“One of the parents at GameChangers runs a rare plant business and I convinced her to cut me a deal.”

Jack’s eyes brighten. “This is amazing. Thank you.” He gently places the items back into the box and picks up a large box covered in shark wrapping paper.

He stops in front of me and drops the box into my lap.

“Merry Christmas.” Jack leans over to Nathalie and whispers, “Send me that parent’s information.”

“Thank you,” I say, oddly timid, and I begin to methodically peel off the paper.

Nathalie squeals, and I stare at the box, brows furrowed. I lean over and whisper to Nathalie, “What is it?”

Everyone laughs, and Nathalie flips the box in my hands.

“It’s a Ninja Creami,” Jack says. “You can make ice cream with it.”

“Oh.” This is glorious. Without a second thought, I rip the box open, searching for the instructions. “This is life-changing,” I murmur, and everyone laughs. “and awesome .”

Forcing myself to set down the box, even though ice cream concoctions are flying through my mind, I grab my envelope and hand it to Maren.

“Oh,” Maren draws out the word, “What is it?” Maren tears open the envelope, silently reading. Her eyes lift, and there are tears.

Lots of tears.

A shocking amount of tears.

“Holy shit,” Sawyer says in awe, “You made her cry.”

“What did you buy to make her cry?” Henry asks, scarfing down another cookie.

“I donated money for her to join a shark tagging trip.”

It didn’t seem worthy of this many tears. I know it’s something she would enjoy, and the money goes toward research, which she also loves.

Another tear falls on Maren’s cheek, and she launches herself at me, throwing my new ice cream machine to the side.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”

Jack smiles, shaking his head before quickly mouthing, how much did that cost?

I shrug as Maren pulls away. Let’s say I did not realize how expensive conducting research can be.

“Best gift ever,” she whispers before grabbing another box covered in shark wrapping paper and handing it to Sawyer. “Merry Christmas!”

Sawyer rips the wrapping, the paper flying across the room. She lifts the small, square box, showing the room.

“Are we…?”

“Bobbleheads?” Maren asks, and Henry nods. “Yep. Had them specially made. It’s you two dressed as Westley and Buttercup.”

Sawyer shifts the box.

“The resemblance is uncanny.” A small card slips out of the box. “Oh! A spa trip, too. Thank you, Maren.”

“I should be thanking you. Making the bobblehead was so much fun.”

Sawyer rises, and Henry sneaks another cookie and shoves it into his mouth in a single bite. I huff a laugh as Sawyer hands a bag to Declan.

He’s been quiet tonight like he’s observing all of us.

Declan lifts a small frame from the bag and his eyes shine. He spins it around to show the group photo of us at Maren and Jack’s wedding earlier this year.

“There’s more,” Sawyer presses and Declan reaches into the bag. “How did you…” he trails off, reading the front of the hardcover book. His eyes meet Nathalie’s and she nods, sniffling as she fights tears.

I’m missing something.

He flips the book around, and I read the cover.

Morales family recipes.

“ We also added our own,” Sawyer says, gesturing to Nathalie and Maren, “but most of them are Paolo’s.”

Declan holds it tightly to his chest. “Thank you.”

The room is silent as Declan rises, handing his gift to Henry. Henry clasps him on the shoulder before opening the gift.

“It’s a baking book!” He yells, full of excitement, before his brows furrow and eyes dart to Declan. “And another!”

Henry has half a dozen books about pastries and baking when he pulls out a box that jangles. He rips the box open and dozens of cookie cutters fall out and onto the floor. Gordie darts out from beneath the coffee table, batting one around.

“Thank you, Declan!” Sawyer glares at Declan. I don’t think he realizes he gave Sawyer work with the cookie cutters. I glance over at Nathalie, who has quietly watched everyone, her whole face spread into a smile. I clock when Nathalie realizes she’s the last person.

“My gift is a bit large,” Henry says, “Deon, can you help me carry it inside?”

I rise, confused, but follow Henry into the driveway. He opens the trunk and hands me a small box, and then lifts another massive one.

“What the hell did you buy her?” I ask, eyeing the large box in his hands.

“I bought Nathalie a pair of custom Converse,” he says, dragging the box toward the front door, “But I bought you a shoe storage system for her shoes.”

“What?”

“You mentioned her shoes are everywhere. I figured she needed somewhere for them to go. I didn’t have time to build it.” My jaw is slack as we re-enter the house and Nathalie eye’s widen at the two boxes. “I didn’t wrap the larger one.” Sawyer coughs and Henry amends his statement, “Sawyer didn’t wrap the larger one, but open the small one first and I’ll explain.”

Henry snatches the box from my grip and hands it to Nathalie. She tears it apart in milliseconds and she squeals as she lifts the emerald green Converse embroidered with gold thread to look like the leaves of Lórien in Lord of the Rings .

“They’re beautiful,” she says, rising to hug Henry.

“I’m glad you like them. The other is a shoe organizer, so you can store all of your Converse.”

“This will save so much space in my apartment!” she exclaims. “I’ll have to borrow your drill when I move back to build it,” she says to Maren, who nods but eyes dart in my direction.

I frown, disliking the sound of those words.

“I’m sure Deon can find space for it here,” Maren says and I grunt, words lost as I realize she’s going to move out sooner rather than later.

I don’t like that at all.

I didn’t like it beforehand, but now Sharon’s words are bouncing around my mind and the love I have for Nathalie is beating like a living thing in my chest.

A lifetime with someone you love doesn’t include moving back into shitty apartments.

Nathalie’s brows furrow, but she serves everyone spiked cider, and we sit around the room, laughing and sharing stories. Eventually, yawns turn into goodbyes, and Declan, Nathalie, and I put away the food.

My chest is tight as Nathalie gets ready for bed, digging through her suitcase for her pajama dress.

I hate those suitcases and what they symbolize. Eventually, she will move out, and things will change. I don’t want anything to change. I want her here, forever.

I stumble back at how clearly that rings true.

She’s in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, when I blurt out, “Do you like it here?”

Confused brown eyes meet mine. “Huh?”

“My home. Do you like it?”

“Uh…” She rinses her mouth and spins to lean against the counter. “Your home is beautiful.” Her eyes search mine, and I stuff my hand in my pocket to hide the fact they’re shaking. “Why do you ask?”

Because I love you, and I want you to stay.

Because I’m terrified to tell you how I feel.

Because you brought me back to life.

“Just curious,” I cough out, instead of the dozen other things I want to say to her.

Her head tilts as she examines me and I spin on my heels, escaping into the dim lighting in my bedroom, leaping beneath the covers, and pulling the gift I bought her out of the drawer. Gordie launches and attacks my feet, claws out, as I settle and I hiss when one of his claws passes through the sheet.

Nathalie appears in her ugly dress and my heart stops beating when she smiles at me. I keep silent as she digs through her suitcase and then hops onto the other side of the bed.

My hands shake with nerves when I hand her the two boxes, wrapped with gnome wrapping paper.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Deon…I—”

“Open it,” I demand and she slowly peels away the wrapping on the larger box. A soft gasp is only her response when she opens the e-reader I bought her. “It’s so you can always have a book with you.”

I rub the back of my neck, self-conscious of the gift. We never said we were going to exchange gifts, but I wanted to give her something since she’s given me so much.

“Thank you,” she croaks, gently setting it down and opening the next gift.

This is the one I’m nervous about, the gift that gives her a peek into my heart in a way only she would understand.

Arwen’s Evenstar dangles on a solid silver chain, the necklace she gave Aragorn when she told him she would choose a mortal life with him over an immortal one without him.

It’s a love declaration.

The only one I can make right now.

Watery eyes meet mine.

“Will you put it on?” she asks, throwing her hair over one shoulder.

I take the necklace, willing my fingers to settle so I can clasp the delicate chain. My fingers linger a moment longer than necessary after it’s done.

“It’s beautiful.” It’s her only comment, but when her eyes meet mine again, a sadness flickers over them that I don’t understand. “Thank you.”

Does she understand what I’m saying?

Nathalie sinks into bed, and discomfort settles beneath my heart, right beside my love for her. I’m trying to work on her cues and on what she’s giving me.

If I confess, will she feel the same? I don’t want to fumble a chance with her. I want to hold her tight and keep her close, but I don’t think I can risk the fall if I don’t know she’ll fall with me.

If I’m meant to fumble, I want her to fumble right alongside me.

I’m half asleep when Nathalie inches closer to whisper, “My toes are cold.”

In a groggy haze, I lift my legs so she can stuff her feet between them. Her head falls against the crook of my armpit when my arm rises to make room and sleep pulls me under, I swear I hear her say, “I’m going to miss this when I have to leave.”