Chapter 222:
Art of Trust
Megan’s Point of View:
The gym was silent. I had gotten used to the roars from the crowd. My sanctuary, the place to clear one’s mind and focus on the fight ahead. Today my thoughts were elsewhere-on Chris, and that unexpected visit from his mother.
“Hey, Megan, you okay?” Jane’s voice broke through my thoughts. She was studying me intently; her face reflected her concern.
I nodded, even though my mind ran wildly. “Yeah, just a lot going on.”
Jane raised a brow and seemed unconvinced. “A lot going on? Or a lot with Chris?”
I huffed, knowing there wasn’t much I could get past her. “Both. His mom showed up yesterday, out of the blue. It really threw him.”
She crossed her arms and leaned back on the ropes. “Complicated. How’s he holding up?”
“He’s…processing,” I said, thinking back on how Chris had looked when speaking about his mother. “It’s dredging up a lot of old wounds.”
Jane nodded thoughtfully. “You two have gotten close. Maybe you can help him through this.”
I looked at her, surprised. “Help him? How?”
“By being there for him, listening,” she said simply. “You’re good at that, Megan. You’ve been through your own share of stuff. You understand.”
She spoke the truth. Chris and I had shared something more than a pretend relationship. We shared our vulnerabilities, our fears with each other. Maybe I could help him, just like he had helped me.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I said, my mind made up. “I’ll talk to him.”
That evening, I found myself standing outside Chris’s apartment. My heart thumped in my chest. I knocked, and he came to the door, startled.
“Megan, hey,” he said, moving aside so that I could come in. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know. I just wanted to see how you were doing,” I said, working really hard to keep my voice steady. “How are you holding up?”
He sighed deeply before his hands returned to his hair. “Honestly? I don’t know. All these years and now my mom … it’s a lot to process.”
I nodded in understanding. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He was hesitant first, then nodded. “Yeah, actually, I think I do.”
We both sat on the couch; an awkward silence filled the air. Chris looked at me in confusion and with pain in his eyes.
“She just came out of nowhere, Megan, and she wants to make things right,” he said, his voice starting to break. “But how do I know to trust her?”
“That’s a hard one,” I agreed. “But maybe. just maybe you give her a chance. See if what she does matches up with what she says.”
Chris’s gaze fell, his face a mix of emotions. “I want to, but it’s hard. There’s so much history, so much hurt.”
I reached out and put my hand over his. “It’s not so easy, the trusting. You have to build it-step by step. Maybe you start with small things. You have a conversation, you set some boundaries. You see where it goes.”
He turned and looked at me, shining in his eyes something almost like gratitude, something deeper. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple, Chris. But it’s worth trying,” I said softly. “And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here for you.”
His grip on my hand tightened, and I felt a wash of warmth as the sweet boy in front of me read between the lines. “Thank you, Megan. That means more than you know.”
We sat there for some time, holding each other in our presence. It felt good; it was like we were together in this thing, standing against the world.
Then Chris spoke, breaking the silence. “You know, I’ve been thinking about the book. About what you said yesterday.”
“Yeah?” I asked, curious.
“Yeah. I think that is a really great idea, adding in some more personal stories, I mean,” he said, his eyes lighting up with interest. “It’s going to make the book real, relatable, you know.”
I smiled, feeling satisfied. “I am really glad you think so. I want people to see the real me, not just the fighter.”
He nodded, his countenance now quite serious. “And I feel your story can help so many people to know that stuff sometimes gets really very hard, and you can come out stronger on the other side.”
“Exactly,” I said, thinking I had finally met someone who spoke my language. “We both have seen enough to know. Maybe we can help people by sharing our stories.”
Chris smiled at me then-a real, kind smile that sent my heart racing. “Yeah. We can.”
We could speak about the book, and conversation came easy. We brainstormed some ideas, shared some memories, and the walls between us, very slowly, came down.
Hours had passed, and we didn’t even realize it. The next thing we knew, we were much closer than we had been previously, sitting on the couch. Chris’s arm was over my shoulders, and I leaned into him. I was feeling at peace.
“You know, Megan,” he said softly, “I never expected any of this. Meeting you, working on this book. it’s changed my life.”
Then, I looked up at him, and in his eyes, I saw the truth.
“Mine too, Chris. I’m glad we met.”
He dropped a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “Me too.”
It was the right moment, but it was also fragile. We both knew the tightrope that we were walking-a line barely strung between fake and real.
“Megan,” Chris began, his voice uncertain, “I know we started this as a pretend relationship, but…”
I held my breath as I waited for him to continue.
“But what if it doesn’t have to be fake anymore?” he asked, searching my eyes.
My heart did a double tap. “Chris, are you saying.?”
He nodded, his face solemn. “Yeah. I’m saying I want this to be real. I want us to be real.”
It was all kinds of feelings at once: fear, excitement, hope. “I want it, too,” I said under my breath.
The smile was like breaking through the clouds to see the sun. “Then let’s give it a go. Let’s see where this goes.”
I nodded, and this feeling of correctness came over me. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
We sealed it with a kiss-the type that felt like starting something new and beautiful.
We talked so long that night, as the night went on, revealing our fears, our hopes, what was behind and in front of us. So, we shared our dreams and doubts, gradually building the base of trust that would transport us forward.
After all, it wasn’t about the past or shadows left there. It was all about our future, which we created together by every step and moment.
I burrowed into Chris’s embrace; sleep hit me knowing that we are on the right path. Yes, the art of trust was not an easy one. It was worth every effort, struggle.