If I Break THE COMPLETE SERIES Bundle (77 page)

I had almost convinced myself that everyone was right, but then he let me fix his tie. It seems silly and stupid that such a small moment could change my thinking, but it did. It gave me a small sliver of hope. He let me in,
Chris
did, and that’s all I really needed. I could learn to love Chris. I already love Cal. Jenna could never love Cal. She’d be running for the hills if he came back. That control she likes to wield, talking to Chris like he’s her six year-old would never fly with Cal. Last night I started doing more research into DID and learned that integration is the goal for someone with his condition. That means Cal and Chris will have to be one, and if Cal is anywhere in there I’m not giving him up, especially to someone like Jenna. What has been weighing on me is the promise I made to Chris about giving Cal up and leaving the past behind me.

But what about my promise to Cal? Through sickness and health, til’ death do us part, and even more than that, the last night I spent with him when he said ‘don’t give up on me.’ It didn’t make sense then but it sure does now. I wish I knew Cal was fighting for us too. That he was somewhere inside Chris, helping me and keeping the promise he made to me. Maybe he is. Maybe that’s why Chris is so freakin’ confusing. I wonder if it’s like a battlefield in his mind, with Cal fighting to get out. I don’t know if Chris has scheduled to see a therapist. I plan on talking to him about it today because I’m thinking of seeing one myself. There’s so much more I want to know about this condition. I need to talk to someone impartial about what I’m feeling, someone that has an understanding of all this. I’ve never seen a therapist or psychiatrist before, but I can’t think of a better time than now.

I’ve been trying to think of the best way to approach Chris about this. Last night was my first night here and I don’t want to come off as nagging him but he’s had about three weeks to come up with something. Maybe he has but just hasn’t mentioned it to me.

It’s 6:00 a.m. and I’ve been hearing movement in the kitchen for the past 30 minutes. Now the smell of bacon and eggs is coaxing me out of my room. Caylen’s still asleep. I grab my toothbrush and make a beeline to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and splash water on my face before going into the kitchen. Breakfast smells delicious, there’s music playing and the house seems alive for it to be so early.

Back at home I’m used to coming into a quiet kitchen and the smell of Febreeze. I walk into the Scott’s kitchen and see Chris.

Oh my god, he’s shirtless!

“Morning” he says, his tone upbeat as he sets two plates on the table with bacon, eggs and potatoes next to two glasses.

“Good morning” I say covering a laugh, as I see him do a little dance to the music he’s listening to. He blushes as he pulls a container of juice out of the refrigerator. Where are his parents? He should definitely not be in the kitchen alone with me especially without a shirt.

“You don’t mind do you?” he asks, genuinely concerned. Is he kidding? Is he talking about not having a shirt on?

“Uh,” I say dumbly.

“The music. I don’t get to play it when my parents are here.” He takes the seat across from me. Of course he’s not talking about the shirt, he’s not bothered by it.
I’m
the one bothered by it,
very
bothered. Yesterday, I was able to sneak a quick peek when he changed his shirt but I wasn’t able to get a good look then. Now I’m front row at the show. I’m not going to be able to eat or think. God, farm work must do a body good. Cal always had a great body, chiseled and defined but I guess tossing those hay bales and teaching gym has pushed it to the max because he’s more sculpted than I’ve ever seen him. I spot a white t-shirt with a big stain thrown across one of the chairs that explains the lack of his shirt.

“I like it actually.” I take a sip of my juice. There’s no way I can swallow food right now. His plate has about three times more food on it than mine. How does he eat that much and keep his stomach looking that good? I have to stop focusing on his stomach.

“Where are you parents?” I ask, my brain finally coming out of its hormone/pheromone-induced haze.

“They had to go get some supplies this morning. They’ll be back this afternoon,” he replies in between bites. I finally pick up a sausage and take a bite. It’s pretty good.

“Does Caylen usually sleep around this time?” he asks.

“We’re an hour behind in Chicago. She’ll be up in the next hour or so,” I say, diving into my eggs.

They’re over easy. Cal liked scrambled…

“Do you cook a lot?” I ask curiously, thinking back to the day Cal first made me breakfast. It was as good as this but he just shrugged it off before getting me off. Too bad that’s not going to happen today.

“My mom cooks most of the time,” he answers with an amused grin.

It’s adorable; he’s adorable

I wonder if Jenna cooks for him. He clears his throat.

“When my mom was sick, I started cooking more since she really wasn’t able to. It kind of became therapeutic,” he says solemnly.

It’s still surreal that his mom was sick so recently and doing so much better now. Even though our introduction was terrible, she’s such a sweet woman. I can’t see anyone not liking her once they get to know her. I think Cal even cared for her or he wouldn’t have stepped aside for Chris to return.

I think back to the conversation that we had about Jenna. The conversation I asked for. It has been bugging me so much, wondering how she got in, how she was able to get to his heart. Now I know he was vulnerable. That’s how, and she attacked. I’m sure it didn’t happen exactly that way. After all, she’s not a wolf and Chris definitely isn’t a little sheep, but it makes me feel better to look at things that way. I can’t believe they’ve only been dating for a couple of months. Even if they were friends before that.

“Do you cook?” he asks, and I sigh with a laugh.

“Not so much,” I say embarrassed. I still haven’t learned how to cook. After Cal left, I didn’t eat much, and after I was a few months pregnant with Caylen, nothing really stayed down, so cooking was the last thing I thought about. Once Caylen was born, the last thing I cared about was learning how to cook.

“You don’t like to?” he asks. I wonder if he has ever met a woman that just didn’t know how. Well, Jenna doesn’t seem like she’d be interested in anything other than interrogating and intimidating people.

“I don’t really know how,” I admit. He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to see if I’m joking or not.

“I could teach you,” he says with a shrug, as if it’s not a big deal and would be the easiest thing in the world. I try to read him like I have a hundred other times but I’m stuck. Sometimes when he looks at me, I can see something there. Other times, I wonder if those deep down feelings are all in my head and he really just wants to be my friend.

How depressing is that?

“It’d be too much. You don’t have to,” I say modestly, shaking my head.

“I kind of do if I want Caylen to eat more than take out food.” His tone is jovial and the smile he gives me awakens the band of sleeping butterflies in my stomach. I try not to be excited about having him all to myself but I am. I imagine him in nothing but an apron and scold myself.

“I’m warning you, when I say I can’t cook, I really can’t cook. I’ve burnt water before, literally,” I tell him, and he covers his face to hide his laughter and disbelief.

“We can start with easy stuff,” he assures me.

“Okay, I’m game.” I say a little excited as I finish my eggs.

“This is really good,” I say.

“Eggs aren’t hard. Breakfast is the easiest to start with.”

“We can start tonight,” he suggests, finishing the last of the food on his plate.

“What would we start with?” I ask curiously.

“Maybe boiling water,” he jokes and I laugh.

“By the end of the three weeks, you’ll be tossing out your take out menus”, he says confidently.

I don’t know about that.

I finish the rest of my food as he starts to clean up the kitchen. I can’t help watching him as he moves around. Every so often, the thought that he’s playing me will creep into my mind. That all of this ‘Chris’ business is shit. And although those thoughts don’t stay long, they do give me the courage to ask him what I intended to.

“I’ve been thinking of seeing someone.” I clear my throat and he turns around to face me, his eyes wide and his mouth set in a fine line. He nods and clears his throat.

“Oh, that’s—that’s good for you,” he says hesitantly. “That’d be good for everyone,” he mutters quietly as he starts to wash a skillet that was left on the stove.

I didn’t really expect that reaction.

He seems a little angry in his own way. I’ve never seen Chris angry before and it’s really hard to tell. When Cal was angry there was no guessing about it.

“I thought it would be a good thing. No one really understands how this is for us,” I say, playing with the last piece of toast on my plate.

“What do you mean?” He turns around, looking at me. He seems confused.

“Well, I was just thinking it would be good for me to talk to a professional about all of…this.” I’m almost afraid to say the name of the disorder aloud. I expect for him to look irritated or confused but he smiles and lets out a breath like he’s relieved.

“Oh yeah, if you think you need to talk someone, you should,” he says encouragingly. Well that was easy.

“What about you? I know you didn’t leave on the best terms with your doctors. Have you looked into seeing anyone else?” I ask, and he sits back at the table with me.

“Aidan, my friend you met the last time you came... A friend of his saw someone who treats some of the soldiers with problems from his unit. He gave me the number. I haven’t called yet,” he admits.

“It’s a little scary, all of this, isn’t it?” I ask him, and he chuckles. “I know Cal is a part of me,” he says quietly.

It’s still weird for me to hear him say his name. When I was in high school it became popular to refer to yourself in third person. I hated it but I know this isn’t a fad for Chris.

“But I’m having a hard time really understanding
how
he’s a part of me. The scarier part is why.” He looks up at me, and his eyes reveal his fear. I want to reach across the table, hold his hand and let him know everything will be okay, but I don’t know if that’d be appropriate. I spend most of my time these days wondering what’s appropriate for us.

“If there’s ever anything you need to talk to me about. Even if it’s…uncomfortable or you think it wouldn’t be easy for me,” I let out a sigh, “I’m here. We’re in this together.” I hope he can see that I’m genuine. I do mean it. His eyes lock on mine for the first time since I’ve met him. They don’t dart around or glance at me momentarily. They’re deep, clear, green oceans that show me his soul. He’s vulnerable and afraid. I never stopped to think how terrifying this could be for him. To have a part of yourself take control that you’re not aware of, afraid of, and have absolutely no idea why….or when it could happen again. He smiles and I hope what I said has helped him. I can’t tell if he’s smiling because he feels better or to make me feel better.

“Sometimes I feel like this guy is the boogeyman or something,” he chuckles.

“Well, I’m not afraid of him,” I say lightheartedly.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly and uneventfully. Caylen and Chris watch cartoons together while I shower and clean up our room. Chris was called in to teach so for the past three hours it’s been Caylen and me alone at the house. It takes a little getting used to, being in this house without anyone who actually lives here. Chris and Mrs. Scott have told me to make myself at home so many times that I’ve lost count. When I first arrived, it reminded me of Raven’s but it’s actually a lot bigger. There are four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an attic. It’s still comforting to be in the house Cal grew up in. It’s a place I always longed to know about. I’m not sure when the Scotts will return. I start to get a little stir crazy after I put Caylen down for her nap. I’ve just finished editing the last manuscript I had in my queue. I call Raven who is giving me a bit of the cold shoulder. She’s still not thrilled that I’ve decided to stay here a few weeks. She’d probably drive straight here if I told her I was staying at their house. I tried calling Angela a few hours ago but she hasn’t called me back. She’s knee-deep in the middle of writing her thesis and I don’t want to keep burdening her with my ever-growing list of dramas.