Page 57 of Enzo
I was fucking this up, panic attacks and fear, when all I wanted was more kissing.
But then if we did that again, if he wanted me to sit with him and…
… I couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t bring myself to think about touching him. I thought too much about how his hand brushed my back when he passed by and how his voice softened when he said my name. I wanted those moments to mean something. To be real, not just my imagination twisting things into something they weren’t. But if they were real, what would I do with them? What could I possibly offer in return?
Doing or saying anything, even letting myself hope—if I reached for more and it all crumbled, I’d lose the one person who made this whole mess of life feel survivable.
So I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Wanting Enzo—wanting something I could never have—wasn’t worth the price of losing him.
But I wanted my body to work. I tried to ease the tension that vibrated in me whenever I looked at him. Forced proximity was a thing—all the romance books said so—and attraction to Enzo could be nothing more than this. I needed intimacy…
I think…
And finding someone other than Enzo to have it with so I could practice or learn orsomething.
I had to shut down my obsession with what his touch would feel like because he was my rock, and not think about how since the face in the window he was treating me like I was fragile again.
You are fragile.
Useless.
Sexless.
Enzo was steady. He was safe. And every time I let myself forget that, even for a second, the ground shifted. I refused to need more than what he was willing to give, so I shoved it all down, pretending I didn’t notice how my heart tripped when he brushed too close or his words settled in my chest, allowing me to breathe through panic.
Stupid fucking panic.
I wanted to sit on his lap. I wanted to be able to tell him that.
I can’t touch him.
I read my self-help books as if they were instruction manuals for fixing the broken pieces no one else could see. One of them said something about setting goals—about taking small steps toward the things you want. It made it sound simple, like all I had to do was name what I wanted and then build a staircase to get there. So I tried. Ultimate goal? Sex with Enzo. Or was it? A connection, maybe. Something real. Kissing, touching. Snuggling. Being close to him without my skin crawling, without my mind spiraling. Just… breathing next to him. How high did I shoot? I made a plan with tiny steps. Just one thing at a time. Like holding eye contact. Like standing close without flinching. Like asking for something without my voice shaking. Like not breaking when he said my name in that voice that made everything else go quiet.
Enzo didn’t know it, but every time he smiled at me, every time he said, “You’re safe,” I put another step in place.
I didn’t know where the staircase led, or if I’d ever make it to the top. But I knew who I wanted to find at the end of it.
Enzo.
And maybe me too.
The version of me who could reach for what he wanted without fear.
I had to believe he was in there somewhere.
So, I read.
TWENTY
Enzo
I loved stayingin the apartment at Redcars. It wasn’t much, but it was near Robbie. That first night Robbie arrived, I didn’t leave his side. He wouldn’t let go of my hand, fingers curled around mine like a lifeline, terrified even in unconsciousness. And every night after that, I was happiest knowing he was safe. But last night there was no sleeping at all. I was anxious, grumpy, fell asleep at the kitchen table, and was tangled up in my damn head. I hadn’t heard anything from Mateo about Vinnie, and I couldn’t forget the fear at hearing Robbie scream when John had crashed into the window. All I wanted to do was hold Robbie and kiss him and keep him safe from everyone.
Including me.
Robbie needed safety, stability, someone who wouldn’t make it about their own selfish feelings. I mean, fuck, look how frightened he’d been when he’d pressed the alarm.
I raked a hand through my hair, muttering a curse. Robbie didn’t need confusion. He needed safety, comfort, a place where he didn’t have to be afraid. All of this meant I was awake at dawn, restless and guilty, Logan walking into the kitchen equally exhausted.
