"It's been awhile," my therapist, Mia, says over Zoom chat. "How are you doing?"

What she isn't saying is that I've avoided making an appointment, despite the office calling weeks ago. I've put this off as long as possible because leaving my house or seeing people gives me anxiety. Even phone calls induce a racing heart and indigestion.

"Could be better," I confess with a shrug. "I stated dating a guy only to find out he used to be everything I dreaded in school."

"Oh?" Mia raises her eyebrows in question, staring at the screen as if I'm right in front of her.

I go into the story about how I met Blake and our interactions afterward. How I'm insecure but trying to have faith in him, even though his mother, friend, and ex were all awful to me in one way or another.

"It sucks," I mumble, looking down at my lap as I finish the story. "When I'm with him, I'm so happy. He's supportive and treats me better than anyone ever has. But when I think about what he used to do -- all those women he's hurt, I feel sick to my stomach."

"Kelly, I think it's safe to say we all have something in our past we aren't proud of. The important thing is that we grow and learn from our mistakes. Do you think he's done that?"

I nod slowly as I lift my gaze to the screen. My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt, picking at any loose thread I can find. "Yeah. He's so quick to defend my honor and call people out on their crap, but it doesn't fix what he did."

"No, but it's impossible to change the past," Mia says in a calm tone. "Did he lie to you about it when you confronted him? Did he try to deflect blame at all?"

"No." I shake my head and avert my eyes again, feeling more stupid than ever. I really don't deserve Blake if I can't get my shit together.

Mia clears her throat, forcing me to look at the monitor before she continues. "I can't tell you what to do, but I think it's worth considering. I know how much you've been through, but he's not any of those people. He didn't hurt you. Will ending things make you feel better?"

The other day, I would have said yes. After all, it was me who thought I needed this for my sanity. Now, I feel miserable. True to his word, Blake has given me space to decide what I want. And I have to admit that I miss him, his easy smile, and words of affection. Besides Dad and Val, he's the only person who has ever truly supported me without giving me backhanded compliments or making me feel like trash. What if I've ruined what we have? If anything, I'm as much to blame as his family because I judged him repeatedly before getting the full story.

After a long pause, I sigh. "No. It won't make me feel better, but I don't know how to cope with his elitist family and friends. Even if he cuts them out of his life, I'll worry I'm responsible for his estrangement."

"You can't control other people's actions and reactions," Mia says in a consoling tone. "I think it's good that you're considering the potential outcome, but there will always be those who want to bring others down, no matter how much you try to avoid confrontation. If, after determining this is a healthy relationship you want, you have a right to be with him. You're hurting yourself more by placing that kind of burden on your shoulders. If he says he doesn't want them in his life, that's a choice he made, not you."

Makes sense. I worry about being the reason anyway, but she's right. I can't control how his family and friends behave, nor can he take back what he's done. If he can make such a huge change, surely, I can extend the courtesy of giving him the benefit of the doubt. That is, if he'll forgive me and take me back.

We soon end the call, and I consider our conversation, replaying everything in my mind. I'm not sure if I'm mature enough for a serious relationship, but I can try to be better.

I pick up my phone and open his last text -- my fingers hovering over the virtual keyboard. I'm compelled to message him, but equally anxious, anticipating everything that can go wrong.

I'm still sitting at my desk, not texting Blake, when Dad knocks on my door. "May I come in?"

I set my phone on the desk with a clatter and sigh. "Yeah."

Dad steps inside as his gaze lands on me at my desk. "Hey. Are you busy?"

I shake my head and shrug. "No. Just finished my appointment with my therapist, so I'm not doing anything now. What's up?"

His mouth quirks into a frown and his eyes narrow as if he's analyzing me. "I've just been wondering if you're okay. You haven't said much lately, and I don't see you rushing off with Blake anymore. Did you break up?"

"Eh, more like we went on a break," I admit, feeling more stupid by the minute over the reason. "He kind of has a past with bullying, even though he's not that way now."

Dad's gaze softens, and he takes a seat on the edge of my bed, clasping his hands together. "I see."

"I don't know what to do," I mumble, staring at my ratty Converse shoes. I wouldn't say they look like they fell off a garbage truck -- they aren't coming apart or anything. They're worn and smudged with dirt, but they're comfortable and the soles are still attached. I've seen distressed jeans with more potential to disintegrate than these old shoes.

Glancing back at Dad, I continue. "His mom called me white trash, and his ex-girlfriend was even worse. They had no problems ensuring I knew Blake is too good for me."

"And how did he respond?" Dad asks, pinning me beneath a knowing look.

"He went off on them. His cousin did too. What scares me though is when they reminded him of what he used to be like, he didn't deny it at all. He's done some really mean things, and even though I know it was a long time ago, it reminds me of what I had to endure in school."

Like all the times I came to class crying because of things my mom did and people laughed because I was so sensitive. They made fun of me often to the breaking point, and I don't want to picture Blake's face among my bullies, even though it occasionally seeps into my dreams.

"People change," he says mildly. "And from what I was able to observe, I'd say he's a decent guy. Everything from the way he elevates you to how his eyes light up when you're around tells me how much he likes you. I never once worried about him hurting you."

Dad's seal of approval means the world to me. Even if Blake's family doesn't want me around, I know Dad and Val would gladly take him in if it meant seeing me happy. And I know they're right. People can change if they work on themselves enough. Otherwise, what's the point in trying to be better?

I offer him a small smile. "Thanks."

Then I pick up my phone and text Blake the question I've been wanting to ask more and more over the past few days. 'Hey, can I see you when you're not busy?'

For all I know, he could be at work. I don't want to seem too desperate, but I also don't want to put this off any longer. I owe Blake a huge apology, and it's one I'd rather give in person.

When he doesn't respond, I set the phone back down and stand up. Then I give Dad a rare hug. "I don't tell you enough how much I appreciate you."

He awkwardly pats my back, but when we break away, he is smiling and his dark eyes are shining. "You're a good girl, Kelly. You just need more faith in yourself."

And others. But I don't say this. I know what I need to work on. Now I hope Blake will take me back.

I nod before gathering my phone and my purse. Then I go to the door, pausing in the threshold to face Dad. "I need to go somewhere. May I borrow your truck?"

Dad grimaces, and I can tell he's considering telling me no. Besides the fact that I almost never drive, he doesn't trust me not to scratch his baby. Nevermind the fact that the one ping on his door was from another car dinging it in a parking lot. Still, I understand because his monthly payment is the equivalent of a small mortgage.

I sigh. "I promise not to scratch it or drive it into anything. I just need to go to Ahwatukee and take care of something."

"Do you remember how to drive?" he hedges.

Fair. I can't remember the last time I willingly sat in the driver's side of a vehicle. "Yes, and hopefully this is a hint that it's important."

"Fine," he relents. "My keys are by the door."

"Thanks!"

With a wave, I run down the stairs and take the keys. Then I skip outside and climb into Dad's Ford and crank the engine. I've forgotten how fancy new cars are, having learned how to drive in a blue spray painted Suburban and broken speedometer. This is way more sophisticated -- screens on the dashboard come to life and the radio is playing music from the eighties. As I put the gear in reverse, a dash camera turns on, and I slowly back out once I'm sure no one is behind me.

Then I exit the cul de sac and drive to Blake's house. I don't know if he's home, and he hasn't responded to my text, but the clock reads half past four. If he's working, he'll be done soon, so I decide to wait if he doesn't answer.

Hopping out of the truck, I approach the door and ring the bell, holding my breath. After a minute passes, I try one more time, but the interior is silent.

I get back in the vehicle and sit in front of the blowing air vents, mindlessly bobbing my head to a song I vaguely remember. I take out my phone and stare at the screen, willing a text to pop up. Five minutes become ten, and soon, thirty minutes elapse. Still, there's no text.

Is this a bad idea? Maybe this is his way of telling me to get a hint. No. I can't think like that. There could be any number of reasons he isn't answering. It's not like he can stare at his phone while he's working.

I'm still going back and forth with myself when the garage door suddenly opens and Blake's Challenger rolls into the driveway beside me.

He steps out and I do the same, coming around the front of the truck and stopping in front of him. With my head dipped and my lip tucked between my teeth, I fidget with the hem of my tank top. Now that I'm here, I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry for being insecure" sounds like a pretty weak excuse.

I don't get a chance to dwell on my thoughts long. Blake's hand immediately takes mine as he uses his free hand to lift my chin. Once our eyes are level, he swallows once before saying, "I've missed you."

Damn if I didn't feel the same way. I disentangle our hands and melt into his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist. "I'm so stupid," I mumble. "I know you aren't shallow or cruel, and I still doubted everything. I'm sorry."

He kisses the top of my head before stepping back and entwining our fingers, bringing my arm up so he can plant a kiss on my wrist. Then his lips find mine as he fists my hair and pulls. His mouth moves urgently against mine, and with our bodies now pressed against the truck, there's nothing to hide his growing erection against my belly.

It's erotic as hell.

When he breaks contact, his chest heaves and his eyes are wild with lust. Moistening his bottom lip, he says, "You're not stupid. I knew from the beginning what I was getting into with you. I knew you were shy and anxious, but I also know what a kind, loving woman you are. You're passionate and intelligent, and I love how much you adore your friends and family. You are worth waiting for."

My nose twitches, my lip trembles the slightest bit, and I swear there's dust in my eye. He's way too forgiving. I clear my throat, but my next words come out tight anyway. "But I had no right to judge you. I was scared because I don't want to dread Audrey or your mom criticizing me every time we see each other. I also don't want to drive a wedge between you and your family."

He shakes his head. "You won't. Mom and I have been tense for awhile. She needs to learn that money isn't everything and that Audrey is not for me. She needs to let me live my life and choose who to date. I want you. Nothing is going to change that, and I have no problem putting everyone in their place."

I lean into him, inhaling his masculine scent mixed with sweat. It's familiar and comforting, melting away all my worries. "You're too good for me. I really don't deserve your forgiveness, but I promise I will do everything I can to be better. I'll try to be more open-minded before I get upset and I'll definitely trust you when you tell me something."

He strokes my hair and releases a contented sigh. "I can't say there's anything to forgive, but if you insist on feeling guilty, I'm more than happy to role play your punishment in my bed."

A giggle tears from my throat as I playfully swat his butt. "Then we'll be good?"

A mischievous gleam sparkles in his eyes, and he smirks before closing his hand over mine. "Oh no. Tonight, I plan on being your bad boy doctor. We're going to engage in all sorts of debauchery, and then, we're going to take a hot bubble bath and drink wine. After that will be more sex and cuddles. And then we'll be good."

That sounds great to me. I reward him with another kiss while cupping his groin. He groans and bites my lower lip before fumbling with the lock on the front door. Once it's open, he pulls me inside, and I follow him, anticipating tonight and many more days to come.