PMU Boxset 2

by MacMillan, Jerica

And now this offer to shovel her driveway had Elena reflecting on how good Matt’s friends really were. She felt like an outsider in their group, but that was her fault, not theirs. When she was around, they always made her feel welcome and included, like she belonged. Why hadn’t she let them be there for her before now?

  But even though she appreciated the offer, and would’ve taken Lance up on it under different circumstances, right now she was looking forward to the exercise.

  That’s okay. I got it. Thanks. She sent the text and pocketed her phone, heading out to get the shovel from the detached garage. She spent the next hour shoveling the driveway and sidewalks, taking her time pushing and scooping the fluffy snow out of the way, enjoying the feeling of using her muscles, doing something that had a tangible effect on the world. So much of her life was spent inside her head—reading, studying, planning. She mostly got her exercise by hurrying from one class to the next, making her way across campus at a fast walk, and even then she wasn’t paying attention to the way her heart pumped blood through her body, the push and pull of her muscles as she moved. No, she was in her head, thinking about the class she’d just finished, the one she was going to next, or how much homework she needed to do by the next day.

  Now she moved, she shoveled, and though her mind wandered, she was present. With Daniel, she’d sought a way to turn off her mind. But that was avoidance, and she now knew that didn’t help her deal with what had happened to her dad, to her family, to her. No, she had to face it and move through it. What she’d done to Daniel had been unfair to him, toxic and harmful. She’d thought it was a simple exchange, physical pleasure for them both, no attachment.

  She’d been wrong.

  He’d been attached from the beginning, but she was too lost in her own pain, too blinded by her selfishness, to see that. And as she spent more time with him, her own feelings had become tangled up as well, which was why she’d reacted so strongly and so badly to him getting hurt.

  Sniffing, she pulled off her glove and wiped at her nose. Cold like this always made her nose run. She looked around at the now-clear driveway. Only the sidewalks and walkway left and she would be done.

  As she bent to scoop the snow off the sidewalk, her thoughts turned back to Daniel and her ill-fated visit to his apartment over Fall Break. What had she been thinking? She’d acted like a selfish bitch, going over there after breaking up with him, acting as though he didn’t have any feelings, thinking he wouldn’t be upset with her for the way she’d behaved the week before. A choked sob escaped her as she realized the full extent of how awful she’d been to him.

  Her desire to apologize increased, but he wouldn’t talk to her now. She’d tried, and he’d shut her down. Who could blame him? She wouldn’t want to talk to her, either. Not after the way she’d acted.

  Maybe she should take her therapist’s advice and write him a letter. Yes, that’s what she would do. She finished shoveling, determined to write the letter as soon as she was done, composing it in her head as she finished, outlining the points she needed to cover. Mostly, how sorry she was and how much she regretted her actions where he was concerned. She wished she could go back and do everything over again. Learn how to deal with her problems instead of using him to escape them. And more than anything, she wished she could go back and not hurt him. Because the truth that she hadn’t really allowed herself to admit before now, was that she loved him. And you don’t use the people you love.

  “How was your Christmas break?”

  Elena settled into the couch in her therapist’s office, putting her bag down. “Good. Better than I expected.”

  Margaret smiled. “You went home?”

  “Yeah. Not as long as I normally would’ve, but I was there for about a week and a half. Things were … better.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  Elena considered that for a moment. “I think mostly it was because I didn’t expect things to be like they used to be. My dad’s not the same.” She paused and shook her head. “He won’t ever be the same, I don’t think. My mom and I talked a lot. I went with her to the support group she’s been going to for the last couple of months. It was … good. Hard, but good.”

  “Hard how?”

  Taking a deep breath, Elena recalled the meetings she’d gone to, listening to everyone’s stories of loved ones injured, changed, and the ongoing struggles of therapies and medications. “It’s still hard for me to talk about what happened. But it was nice to be around people who get it, who’ve experienced similar things. I cried both times I went. The first time I shared a little of my story when I introduced myself, and I tried to keep it together, but it’s still hard.” Margaret nodded, silently encouraging her to continue. “The second meeting, my mom talked. That was hard in a different way. I mean, I knew that things had to have been difficult for her, but we hadn’t ever talked about it much. Hearing the details about their daily life …” Elena had to stop, swallowing hard a few times, her eyes on her hands in her lap. A tissue appeared in her line of vision. She let out a choked laugh, taking it from Margaret’s hand, meeting her eyes with a watery smile. “Thanks.”

  “It’s okay to cry, you know.”

  Elena nodded. “Yeah. I still don’t like to, though.”

  “Why is that?”

  Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, Elena firmed her lips and wiped the tears from her face. “I don’t know. Old habits, I guess. Plus, with debate, and wanting to be an attorney, controlling your emotions is necessary.”

  “That makes sense.” Margaret made a note in her notebook before meeting Elena’s eyes again. “When you first started, you said you hadn’t given in to the urge to cry because you thought you’d never stop. Do you still feel that way?”

  Elena shook her head. “No. Not like that. I’ll cry when I’m alone if I need to, or with people who care and understand.” She took a deep breath. “I still don’t like the looks of pity I get from people when I tell them about my dad, but that was one of the nice things about the support group. Everyone’s experienced something similar, so the looks were filled with understanding and sympathy, not pity.”

  “Good. That’s good. And what about Daniel?”

  “What about him?”

  Margaret tilted her head. “Well, before the break, you came to some conclusions about your feelings for him, and you were trying to write him a letter. Did you ever send it to him?”

  Dropping her eyes again, Elena shook her head. “No. I never finished it. Every time I tried to write it, it sounded stupid.” She shrugged. “It is what it is. I think it’s too late to change anything.”

  “Hm.” Margaret shifted, crossing one leg over the other, her face thoughtful. “What do you think the purpose of apologizing is?”

  Elena looked around the room, mulling that over. “I guess I always thought it was to get the other person’s forgiveness.”

  “Mmhmm. And for the person who apologizes? Do you think they benefit?”

  “I guess,” Elena said slowly as she verbalized her thoughts. “They would at least know they made the effort to make things right. And the other person can choose to forgive them or not, but at least they know the person who hurt them is sorry.”

  Margaret gave her a soft smile. “Would you like Daniel to know you’re sorry?”

  Clearing her throat, Elena met Margaret’s eyes briefly before refocusing on her hands. “Yeah. I would.”

  With a glance at the clock, Margaret stood. “I hate to cut us off right there, but that’s all the time we have for today.”

  Elena stood too, and they compared their schedules, picking out a new time to continue meeting on a weekly basis. While she felt stronger than she had when she first started coming, the long break made Elena want the benefit of weekly sessions for a little while longer. But she felt good, more settled about the situation with her parents. It wasn’t ideal, but she no longer carried the weight of guilt around for not being there, for not wanting to be there. Knowing that her mom was doing th
ings to take care of herself made it easier for Elena to do the same.

  But Daniel. That was a thorny mess that she couldn’t settle in her mind. She’d tried writing a letter that Friday after Thanksgiving, but she couldn’t. Normally, she was articulate and well spoken, but with him, with her feelings, with an apology for her appalling behavior—the words wouldn’t come out right. And her inner perfectionist reared its ugly head, insisting that the letter had to be perfect, the words exactly right before she could send it. Since coming to college, she’d become more okay with less than perfection, shooting for excellence instead. But with this? She couldn’t accept less than perfect.

  Or maybe she was falling into her old habits of avoidance. Except that wasn’t true. She’d tried to talk to Daniel. He hadn’t wanted to talk.

  But she was still a mess where he was concerned, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

  How fitting, then, that as she turned the corner, she almost ran into him, stopping just in time. Coop was with him, and they all three came to a sudden halt in the middle of the sidewalk, Coop’s wide blue eyes flicking back and forth between her and Daniel.

  She swallowed. “Hi, Daniel.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The sound of Coop clearing his throat broke Daniel’s trance, bringing him back to life. He’d frozen when he’d found himself unexpectedly face to face with Elena. Her brown eyes gazed up at him, full of hope and something that looked like longing. Fuck. He’d have a hard time resisting her like this.

  Coop cleared his throat again, nudging Daniel in the arm. “Well, I’ve got that thing. So, uh, I’m gonna go. Catch you later.”

  Elena glanced at Coop, watching him walk away, her throat working as she swallowed. When she met Daniel’s eyes again, some of the hope had dimmed, the look that he recognized as the one she put on when she was experiencing a strong emotion coming over her face. It had been two months since he’d seen her last, and he still recognized the nuances of her expressions. I’m so fucked.

  Her eyes darted away, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, can we talk?” She looked up at him, her eyes moving over his face, then dropping to his neck. Sucking in a breath, she wrapped her arms around herself. It was cold outside, only the second week of January, but he didn’t think that’s why she did that.

  When he didn’t say anything, she looked around again. “Well, okay. I guess that’s a no. I just … I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. And maybe buy you a coffee. But I get it if you don’t want to talk to me.” She opened her mouth again, closed it, and shook her head, her gaze dropping to her shoes. “I don’t blame you. So, I’ll just … I’ll go. And I won’t bother you anymore.”

  She turned, about to head off in another direction, and her mask broke, letting him catch a glimpse of her face crumpling before she could hide it. That was enough to break through the barrier he’d been trying to keep between them. He reached out and caught her arm. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Yeah. Okay. A coffee sounds good.”

  Nodding, she turned and headed toward the student center, and he fell in step beside her. They picked their way across campus, avoiding the worst of the ice spots on the sidewalks, walking single file a couple of times as they passed other students going the opposite direction.

  Neither of them spoke as they walked. Elena insisted on paying for his coffee when they got to the coffee shop, and he claimed a table in the corner after he ordered, not willing to argue with her. He kept his eyes on her as they sipped their coffee, waiting for her to speak. She looked all around, her eyes settling on him then moving away. He wasn’t used to seeing her so nervous. Part of him wanted to do something, say something, to put her at ease. This awkward tension made him uncomfortable too, especially since things had always been easy between them. Not this stilted weirdness where she wouldn’t do more than glance at him.

  But he fought that urge. She wasn’t his. She hadn’t wanted him. She’d used him. And even if she was here to apologize, he needed to remember that, needed to stay strong so he didn’t give in to her again. Because he still missed her. And even though she’d used him to distract herself from her problems, he still thought that she cared about him, the thing she’d said about not wanting to watch the people she loved getting their heads bashed in popping up and echoing in his mind whenever he tried to hold on to his anger with her.

  Her gaze finally settled on her hands spinning the cardboard sleeve around and around on her coffee cup. She took a deep breath and let it out, her eyes coming up to his. “I’m in therapy,” she blurted out, but didn’t continue.

  He waited, then nodded, trying to be encouraging. “Good. That seems good. Is it helping?”

  She nodded, letting her gaze fall away from his again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. It is. I’m, well, I feel better, stronger. Like I can handle things better.”

  “Good.” All he could do was keep repeating that word. He tried to come up with something else, but didn’t know what to say.

  “Yeah.” That came out softer, and she lifted her eyes to his again. “It’s been really good. My therapist has helped me realize some things and let go of a lot of the guilt I’ve been holding onto about things with my family. She’s helped me accept the situation for what it is a lot more.” She bit her lip, but pressed on. “I skipped going home for Thanksgiving so I could have some time to come to terms with everything on my own. But I went for Christmas, and it was …” She tilted her head to the side. “Not great. But better than I expected. And it was nice to know that it was okay for me to do things to take care of myself without feeling guilty or like I was a bad person.”

  She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to her coffee cup again. The next thing she said came out much softer, barely above a whisper. “And she helped me realize how terrible I was to you.” She paused, meeting his eyes and pressing her lips together, a shine of tears gathering along her eyelids. Something clenched in Daniel’s gut, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she blinked the tears away, shaking her head. “I was really terrible to you. And I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  He swallowed, unsure how to respond to her apology, to the earnest look in her eyes, to the fact that she was fighting back tears while telling him how sorry she was. The part of him that had fallen deeply under her spell six months ago wanted to tell her everything was okay, that he forgave her, that they could be together. But the boy inside him that was too accustomed to being a pawn his father used to get back at his mom still rebelled against the way she’d used him as well.

  “You used me.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “After I told you about my parents, my dad, how he used my brother and me to control our mom after their divorce. You knew all that, and you still used me.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek as she nodded, drawing in a shuddery breath. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t—” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

  The old anger and bitterness rose up inside him, choking out the sympathy he’d normally feel for her distress. “You didn’t what? You didn’t think I’d care? Or you didn’t think I’d find out?”

  Her hand reached toward him like she wanted to touch him, but she stopped short, withdrawing back to her side of the table. “No, that’s not what I was going to say. I didn’t realize what I was doing at the time. I wasn’t trying to be a selfish bitch, I swear. I didn’t make the connection until you said it that night.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “Even then, I thought you were mad at me more for breaking up with you.”

  “Which was a shitty thing to do, too.” He was pissed at her for breaking up with him like that. That was another point to remember, to steel him against her tears.

  She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry for that, too. But I realized that wasn’t the only hurtful thing I’d done to you. So I was starting from the beginning. But I’m sorry
for all of it. For using you, for treating you like you didn’t have feelings, for breaking up with you when you were hurt, for not being honest with you about my own feelings. All of it. I’m sorry for everything.”

  “Why did you do it?” He didn’t know why he asked that, why he kept her talking. The more she talked, the more he softened and came closer to forgiving her. He was at war with himself, trying to hang on to his anger and hurt, but also wanting to forgive her and try again.

  Would she even want to try again? Or was she just wanting to apologize so she could move on? But why would she feel it necessary to apologize if that was all she wanted? Had she cared about him after all? He’d been telling himself for the last two months that she hadn’t really cared, despite what she’d said the night of his concussion. That she’d been upset more because of her own history with TBIs than because of any deep connection they’d shared. But he could never quite believe it. The logic didn’t hold up.

  She fiddled with the sleeve on her cup again. “Well, at first, it was because you seemed safe. We already had a connection, and you were so sweet, wanting to let me talk, and you didn’t give me the same pitying looks I’d been getting from everyone else for months.” She shook her head. “You made me feel good. When I was with you, I could forget about everything else, pretend that everything hadn’t fallen apart. And I craved that feeling more than anything.” Another deep, shuddery breath. “But that wasn’t a healthy way to deal with it. I was avoiding, not dealing, pushing it away. And I used you to do it, which wasn’t fair to you, and wasn’t good for me.”

  Her hand extended again, but she clenched her fingers into a fist, leaving her hand in the middle of the table but not letting herself actually try to touch him. “But I did—I do—like you. I care about you. I want good things for you.” She took a deep breath, biting her lip before pressing on. “I really want you not to hate me. And I—” She stopped, shaking her head again, pulling her hand back to her lap.