Unraveling with You (EXCERPT)

Chapter 1.3

"I need to carry my mom," I say.

I clear my throat, startled by my confession. I haven't voiced it aloud a single time in my life. Remington stares, brows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak, but judging by how confused he looks, I sputter as many explanations as possible before he asks too much.

"Sorry, just— I said that wrong. It was traumatizing, probably, but I'm more upset that I couldn't finish my lunges either. I need to be stronger to carry a lot of things, like at work."

Remington hums, returning his focus to my legs. "I don't really agree that you couldn't do the exercise. More like he was pressuring you past your limits. But what do you mean by 'a lot of things?' Does your job involve manual labor, or is it something back at home?"

My heart flips. I blink a few times, wishing I kept my mouth shut as usual about Mom. "I can't carry the big bags of flour or heavy pots of soup as easily as everyone else at work, and it's really embarrassing. I've always wanted to go to the gym, but I– I'm embarrassed by how I look, and how weak I am–" My heart stings, and Remington's eyebrows draw together. I laugh. "Sorry, you didn't ask to hear all this."

Remington shrugs. "I didn't ask for an apology either."

His straightforward, flat tone takes me back. Is this his version of being snappy with me? But looking into his eyes, I'm confused; his expression hasn't changed. He looks genuinely concerned.

"If you're apologizing because you're feeling emotional, or because you're believing that dickhead trainer that you're weak, then I can't accept your apology. You coming to the gym to work out despite everything you told me, and still not giving up on your workout goals now, even when faced with confrontation, was not weak. That's fucking badass, to be honest."

My stomach flips. "O-oh. Thank you. I mean– It's just, either way, I really am sorry. I've been a mess since the second we met. I feel pretty weak and embarrassed."

But Remington softens his voice. "Do you mean then that you think crying is weak?"

"I don't know. Not when I see other people cry. But with me, it feels like everyone else thinks I'm weak, so I'll only seem weaker if I cry."

"I hear you on that. But crying isn't weakness. It's information. Your body is informing us that you're feeling a lot right now and that what you're feeling a lot about is something important to you. That's not good or bad. It's just okay. You're okay."

His words swirl to the scarred depths of my soul. Dropping my head, I let myself cry, sitting on the floor beside Remington.

Digging back into his gym bag, Remington hands me a tissue packet. "Don't hold it in for me. Even if it takes an hour to let it out, keep crying."

I want to laugh, but he's dead-serious. As my smile fades, my tears burn hotter. I've never been told to keep crying in a non-threatening way. It feels like he's holding space for me. It's so kind. So gentle.

When my floodgates open, he hums. "Good. Keep taking deep breaths."

He's right: I'm holding my breath to stifle myself. But when I exhale, a whimper escapes with my air. I duck my head, wishing I could just stop.

But he continues to sit with me, and within minutes, my heart softens enough to erase nearly all the panic Josh created. I suddenly feel so light that I laugh.

Remington perks up. "What's up?"

Digging through my jacket pocket, I fetch my gym membership gift card. Remington takes it from me with furrowed brows, and I groan. "I still have 9 slots left for this gym."