Chapter 48 - Sparks Will Fly

Jacob isn’t in the Builder Bay today as I work on repairs. He doesn’t come to my workstation, nor do I spot him in his. I work as fast as I can without hurting myself or making mistakes to make up for the loss of extra hands. As the hours tick by, my awareness of his absence grows.

Without his gravity, I’m unmoored. Despite my best attempts, I drift in and out of focus. My mind is a looping replay of his destroyed expression during the weigh-in yesterday. Hurt and angry. Rightfully. Then I recall his worry about the brackets over me, and I am hurtling through uncertainty again. How should he have reacted? I don’t even know how I would react.

I want to call Ava or Fatimah, but they’re both busy. I try to focus on my bot, narrating everything I do like I’m teaching a hands-on lab in my classes. It keeps my focus enough to stop my mind from wandering too far.

By the time I finish everything I need to do for the day, I’ve been in the Bay for twelve hours, and I still have more to go in the morning. But I did it all by myself.

Right as I’m about to crawl into bed, there’s a knock on my door. I consider pretending I’m already asleep, but his tired voice drifts through the door. “Mari.” It’s salve on a burn. I didn’t realize the pain until his voice soothed it.

The carpet is soft on my bare feet as I grab my cane. My knee is getting better, but it's not quite healed yet. Fear grips me as I reach for the latch. If I open the door, if I let him in, maybe this is the end. What if we don’t come back from this? It took sixteen years to get here, and I fucked it up in a week.

I need to rip off the bandage. If this is over, I need to know so I can focus on the final two fights. I can compartmentalize if I know, instead of agonizing over what could be. Then I can go home and tend my broken heart in peace. Shine my trophy with my tears or something.

The latch and doorknob are cold and unforgiving on my fingers as I open the door.

His shoulders are heavy. His clothes are neat and smooth, like he recently changed into the comfy sweatpants and hoodie, but his hair needs to be combed, and his stubble is longer than usual.

“Can I come in?”

I move aside, letting him trudge into the room. His presence does not fill the space like it has; it is small as he tucks himself into the chair in the corner. I sit on the edge of the bed, facing him. Even though we are a few feet apart, it’s like we’re on opposite ends of the solar system.

He rubs his jaw as he studies the pattern of the carpet.

“You don’t trust me.”

The words are a shock to hear, but not as much as they should be. That seed of doubt is rooted so deep that it feels impossible to dig it out. I tried so hard, and still that inkling of doubt reared its ugly head the second I got scared. There’s so much good between us, so much that works, but there’s so much pain. How much of it is our past, and how much of it is self-sabotage? I can’t figure it out; I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know what to say.

“Jesus, Mari.” His exasperated words crack, and those big gray eyes are crumbling stone. “You will risk your livelihood, but you can’t find it in yourself to trust me?”

“It’s different.” The words leave my mouth too quickly, and I wince.

“You’ll accept my help. You’ll sleep with me, but you can’t trust me enough to not blame me the second something goes wrong?”

“You said I didn’t have to trust you.” Is there something wrong with me? What about me is so fucked up that I can’t stop saying awful things? I chastise myself.

His hands scrub down his face as his elbows come to his knees. “That was before I spent a week in your bed.” He’s more upset than mad. I wish he were mad. Anger would be easier. “You should trust the people you sleep next to every night.”

Even saying something foolish would be better than the silence between us as he shakes his head at me.

“Why am I the one thing you won’t take a risk on?”

“Jacob, I ....”

His head hangs. “Mari, I know I fucked up before, but do you really think so little of me, of us, that you think I would sabotage you? Do you really think I would risk losing you again over winning Circuit Smack?”

Isn’t that why I did it? Because I assumed exactly that? I start to doubt myself instead of him.

“What happened?” he asks.

“You cared more about the brackets getting messed up than the fact I was about to be sent home.” The words don’t come out bitter, just exhausted.

He blinks in confusion, then realization. “I was angry and hurt. That was the easiest thing to focus on without doing this in front of all our peers and the cameras. It wasn’t the best thing to say. You’re right. But of course I don’t want you to go home. I’ve done everything I possibly can to keep you here.” His exasperation adds another layer to the guilt.

I can’t refute that, as much as I might try to find a way to. The spectacle was bad enough; any more dramatics and we’d have a whole new scandal following us. We’re lucky there weren’t many people around, especially the camera crew. My reasoning for being hurt over his reaction was flimsy at best and only propped up by my own overzealous fears. It’s quickly falling apart. My head hangs in shame.

He studies my reaction. “You were already blaming me, though. Why? What did I do? What happened?”

“Nothing.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction. I really need to work on thinking before I respond; I’m just making things worse. I’m afraid to tell him, though.

“Will you stop lying to me?” he groans, angry and wounded. “I want to fix this. I want to do whatever it takes to be with you, Mari.” He sighs, drained and defeated, fury extinguished as quickly as it came. “But I won’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me.” He goes rigid suddenly. “Unless this isn’t anything serious, then I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?” He falls back into his chair, blank shock overtaking his features. “Was this always something with an expiration date for you?” he murmurs.

“It all just happened,” I say. “One minute I hate you, the next ....” I’m falling for you. The words stay firmly behind my lips. “You’ve given me the path to my dreams as quickly as you took it away.” The hurt in his eyes is like a needle digging under my skin. It’s like I’m doing the same to him. “Everything will be fine, and then I remember what it felt like when you lied. That doesn’t go away overnight, Jacob. I’ve dreamed of all of this since I was a teenager. Circuit Smack and you. This isn’t, I mean, I don’t want it to be a casual thing. I want ....”

It all. I think I want it all, I realize with sudden, absolute clarity. It’s clear and solid and certain in my mind. I want it all with him. I want to come home to him. I want to share a workshop and work on our robots together. I want to adopt a cat and name it Asimov. I want to have the Williams family traditions be the Williams-Moore family traditions. But I can’t tell him any of that right now. Not when I fucked up so badly.

He is granite. “What happened?”

“I got in my head,” I admit. “I feel like an outsider all the time, everywhere. I was trying to convince myself that everything was going fine, and then I started to remember the last time I felt like that, right before my whole life exploded.” I breathe deeply, slowing my rapid outpouring. “I got scared. I got in my head, and I blamed you. It was the easiest thing. That wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

The carpet’s loops and swirls of fiber look soft enough to disappear into if I try hard enough, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot. Do I trust Jacob more than I believe my own insidious fears?

I’m such a fucking fool.

“I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since I got here, since this started happening.” When I look at him through tear-blurred eyes, I can tell his are shining for the same reason. “I got here and immediately realized this wasn’t the opportunity I hoped for.” The memory of the excitement and crushing disappointment sloshes in my stomach. “I had to rebuild my opportunity, just like we did Zeta. I had to take it apart, redesign it, and hope to god it works. I’m not used to things working out,” I say. Nothing has ever worked out for me; not my relationships, not my career, not my robot fighting. This time, it’s so close to happening that I can almost touch it. Almost. “I’ve worked so hard, and this entire time, I’ve been waiting for it to be for nothing.” Saying the words aloud makes them real. It makes every dark fear come alive. And it makes them walk away. It makes them less scary.

“Mari,” he breathes.

“I have given up almost every shred of myself. Every professional and financial decision has been made for my family. I have watched my body slowly give up, inch by inch, until it’s no longer one I recognize.” I examine my hands, swollen and fragile, and ball them into painful fists. “I had the sport I love almost ruined for me. It wasn’t all your fault. What happened didn’t help, but there were so many things working against me. I gave up so much to keep a tenuous hold on it.” I can’t stop shaking, and I grip the covers on the bed for stability. “And I’ve done it all while being constantly discounted. Everything I’ve won, everything I fought so hard for, and everything I have can be taken away in an instant. You could take your motors back tomorrow. One wrong move, and my run is over. I almost went home because I sprained my knee.”

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “I risked almost everything to be here, and whether it was the right or wrong decision, I have to deal with it, and it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.” With each word, though, it’s getting a little lighter. Is this what it’s like to share a burden? Is this what it’s like to let someone see you at your worst, not only physically, but emotionally? It’s raw and terrifying.

“Jacob, I’m on the edge of falling constantly. When Zeta came up above weight on the scale? It felt like a gust of wind at my back pushing me towards the edge when I realized things were finally going right.” A sobbing hiccup escapes me. “It felt too real, like I was a second away from losing everything, and you’re part of that now. And I don’t know. Jacob, I don’t know. It was completely asinine and unfair to you. I’m sorry,” I sob.

The horrible, fearful, angry part of my brain jumped the gun, so willing to blame in a moment of fear. I fucked up. I’m the one who ruined the opportunity this time. I can’t even bear to look at him anymore. Perhaps I should prioritize therapy if I win Circuit Smack.

He could get up out of that chair and walk out of the room, and I wouldn’t blame him. I’m a snot-covered wreck. My life is messy, and so much of it is tenuous at best. He and I are no different. Sixteen years’ worth of stops and starts, helping hands, and betrayals. We’ve said as many wrong words as right. But he is slipping out of the chair and onto his knees, taking my hands in his.

“Mari, look at me.” His beautiful, perfect, handsome face is stricken, but his gaze is steady on me. “Do you trust me?”

I nod quickly. I do. Despite the terror, despite the past, I do. I trust him enough to leave him with my dad to work on Zeta. I trust him enough to take his help, even if it was only a fraction of an inch at a time. I trust him enough to help me when I’m hurt and to see me at my lowest. Even if I’m only now realizing it. I do; I trust him. I trust him more than anyone else. “Yes.”

He sags with relief. “Then trust me when I tell you: I love you. I will do anything in my power to make sure you have everything you need to succeed and thrive.” He kisses each hand gently. “I have loved you for a decade and a half. Ever since the day we met, Mari. It’s always been you. It will always be you. You don’t need to love me back. You don’t need to—”

I grab his face in my hands, gingerly pulling him to me, and kiss him. His surprised mouth is warm against mine, lips still mumbling words for the first moment. When he melts into me, I know what I’ve always known—he feels like home. We are twin stars orbiting each other, bound by the gravity between us. Even apart, even at odds, he was always on my mind. I know now: I will always take a chance on him.

“I love you,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry I doubted you. If it ever happens again, I’ll talk to you. I promise.” No matter what my traitorous brain tells me, I’m never putting either of us in this situation again.

Maybe this is part of love. When you stumble clumsily over a line, when you fumble your fears, when the terrible little parts of you win for a moment, you do anything in your power to make it right and learn how to not do it again. When it happens to your partner, you remember you love them and give them grace, because they gave you grace when it was your turn. It’s a home you are always welcome in, even when you’re soggy and dirty. You have to clean up after yourself, but the door is always open, and the hearth is always warm.

His bittersweet smile is still cradled in my hands. “As much as it hurt, I understand now.” He nuzzles into my hand and kisses my palm.

“I think I understand now, too, more than I did. Thank you. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for letting me talk through it. Thank you for forgiving me,” I add with another entirely ungraceful sobbing hiccup. “I’m not used to talking about my feelings. Wow, that sounds sad.” I’m so used to trying to hide what I’m going through to not burden anyone else around me because I rarely have the time and energy to even deal with it myself.

He extracts himself from my hands and vacates the floor, instead sitting next to me on the bed. He pulls me down into a firm cuddle. “I told you, sweetheart. You don’t have to do this alone. Your work, your fears, your celebrations.” His lips are a featherlight press against my skin. “I’m here to share all of it with you.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “But ....” His breath hitches, nerves tensing his muscles. My cheeks hurt from trying to keep a smirk at bay. “A decade and a half, hm?” I tease. I’m tired and drained, but the familiarity of our banter soothes me.

He relaxes and chuckles, warm and low. It sets my skin ablaze. “Over a decade and a half, if we’re being accurate.”

My heart kicks like a horse. I can’t mourn the lost time or think about the scars of strife right now. Not when this feels so good. I can only laugh at our mutual stubbornness and screwups. “I think we both might be complete fools.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I think so.”

I’m so much clearer as I curl into his chest, though all the energy has left me. Everything I’ve been holding on to, every fear and every doubt that I’ve been trying to keep sealed, is exposed and held softly in his hands. Gentle, safe, secure. To be known, to be loved, to be trusted, is to be free. And I think I finally understand what that freedom feels like.

Maybe this time, it will all work out.