When I finish, Gemma reaches up and cups my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes.
"You can't protect everyone from everything, Will. That's not love. That's control."
The words land hard. She knows exactly what she's saying—and so do I.
"I hear you," I say quietly.
"Do you? Because love isn't about making sure the other person never gets hurt. It's about being there when they do. It's about trusting them to handle their own pain while letting them know they don't have to do it alone." She strokes her thumbs across my cheekbones. "Sarah's death wasn't your fault. And you didn't fail her by having a life outside your marriage. You failed her by spending the last five years punishing yourself for being human."
"How do you see through me so easily?" I ask, my voice rough.
"I spent four years with a man who convinced me that his control was the same as love." Her mouth twists. "I know the difference now. And so do you."
I pull her against me, wrapping my arms around her, pressing my face into her hair. She fits against me like she was made for it. Like all the empty spaces I've been carrying were just waiting for her to fill them.
We stay like that for a while, holding each other in the quiet kitchen, the coffee growing cold on the counter. Eventually she pulls back, a pragmatic look crossing her face.
"So. How do we tell Cole we had sex?"
I exhale a laugh that's half relief, half dread. "I've been trying not to think about that."
"He's going to find out eventually. Better from us than from the rumor mill."
"Agreed." I run a hand through my hair. "Tonight. After the bar closes. We'll sit him down together and tell him."
Gemma nods. "Together. Good." She glances at the clock on the wall. "But right now I need a shower and clean clothes, and you probably have somewhere to be."
"I can drive you to Cole's."
"On your bike?" Her eyebrows rise. "In your shirt and nothing else?"
Fair point. "I'll call you an Uber."
"I'll call myself an Uber. You make more coffee and stop looking at me like you're about to change your mind about letting me leave."
I didn't realize I was doing that. I consciously relax my grip on her waist, and she grins.
"There he is. The reasonable, non-caveman version of Will Lawson."
"Don't get used to it. He's around more often than not."
She laughs, and the sound fills the kitchen with warmth. "I'll see you at the bar. Try not to do anything dramatic between now and then."
"No promises."
An hour later, I'm at Ironside, going through the motions of opening. The bar doesn't technically start serving until later, but there's always prep work. Stocking. Cleaning. The mindless tasks that keep my hands busy while my brain runs in circles.
Nash is the first to notice something's different. He shows up around ten to help with a delivery, takes one look at my face, and stops in his tracks.
"Holy shit."
"What?"
"You got laid."
I don't dignify that with a response, which is apparently all the confirmation he needs.
"I knew it." He grins like a kid on Christmas. "I fucking knew it. Who is she? Wait, don't tell me. It's Gemma, isn't it? It's definitely Gemma."
