Page 63 of Existential
“I wanted to ask your opinion on something.”
“Me?” What knowledge would I have of his world that he’d need?
“Yeah. I want a neutral viewpoint on it.”
Whatever he needs, I’ll do it. “Shoot.” Isn’t that exactly what I was hoping for in the barn?
He pulls in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he speaks. “If you knew that your influence on a situation wasn’t a positive one, is it still quittin’ if you walk away from it?”
“I don’t think I fully understand what you’re talking about.”
He rubs a hand over his face, and something in that indication of doubt makes me yearn to snuggle in tight again to reassure him he’s doing okay.
“I want to step down as president.”
“Why?” I might not know much, but I’ve pretty much got it locked down that the position is a revered one.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for it anymore.”
“Because of what happened at the clearing, with you shooting the cop?”
He chuckles. “No, fairy. Because I don’t think someone as weak as me has earned the right to sit at the head of the table. They need someone strong, someone who doesn’t wish he could spend all day in his bed without havin’ to talk to a single person.”
I frown as I shift around to face him fully, trying to work out what exactly is weak about him. “You seem pretty strong to me.”
“That’s because you don’t know me that well.”
“I know you well enough to remind you that choosing to get up and face your demons each day is the strongest thing you can do.”
His lips twitch in a sort of smile, and his eyes soften. He knows I’m right—he just won’t admit it. He’s stronger than he realizes.
“Tell me,” I coax. “What have you done that makes you think you’re weak, not good enough to lead others anymore?”
“It’s what I haven’t done,” he stresses. “I … since Dana and Dad …” He presses his lips tight, shaking his head. “I don’t even know where to start with this shit.”
“Just give it to me as it comes,” I say with a shrug. “I’m pretty good at piecing things together.”
He locks his gaze with mine, and in the space between the dark brown flecks of his eyes, I see hope. He finds something in me, something he seeks but doesn’t understand. And I get that, because I’m searching it out too.
“You’re too good to be true, you know that?”
I look away, sure if I hold his gaze a second longer he’s going to find a pipeline to my innermost thoughts. I’m not ready to be that open yet. I’ve got to understand the way I feel about him before I can share it.
“I just do what I’d hope others would do for me.”
He reaches out and threads his fingers under mine, bringing our joined hands between us on the floor. “Do you think it’s weak if a man admits his fears?”
I frown, squeezing his hand tight. “No.” Why would he even think that? “I think it’s honorable. It takes so much bravery to admit you have faults.”
“You think?”
“I know.” After all, aren’t I the authority on keeping faults a secret?
He sniffs, staring at the toes of his boots where they rest against the base of the washer. “Since everything went to shit last year, I get … I guess the only way to describe it is angry at myself.”
“What for? Do you blame yourself for what happened?”
His head drops back again, and he closes his eyes as his thumb traces a path on the back of my hand. “Yeah, but I know I shouldn’t. Still, knowin’ what I’m thinkin’ is wrong doesn’t make it go away. I still blame myself for everything, still hate myself for it.”