“I could be,” she says slowly, eyes narrowing in mock warning, “as long as you get through this.”
“I’m ready, baby.”I kiss her again, slower this time.Sealing the deal.Tasting victory.
Motivated as hell.
Look, I love what we built—the center is a good thing.A place where kids and teens can find sports, music, something to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s slipping.But being here?Standing in front of a crowd and pretending I’m someone who thrives under flashlights and applause?
That’s where I unravel.
I’ve learned that about myself.Me and crowds—we don’t belong to each other.I don’t know if it’s trauma or if I was just born an introvert who got shoved into too many spotlights.Maybe both.But I do know that the more I stretch myself past the limits of where I feel safe, the harder it is to breathe.
So I don’t.Not anymore.
I stay in my lane.I take my meds.I work with my therapist.I show up where it counts.
And right now, that means this stupid fucking tie.Thirty minutes of smiling and waving and maybe saying a few words, then Kit, me, and hopefully her being naked again in the safety of our home.
That’s my version of winning.
And yeah, I’m in.For her, for the kids who need it, for the promise of peeling this suit off the second I cross our threshold—I’m in.
Kit
April 14th, 1999
The fairy lights buzz softly above us like they’re trying not to wake the stars.
We’re by the lake—our lake.The one that came with the property and somehow made this whole place feel like a dream instead of a financial mistake.It’s just past nine.The crickets are in full chorus.The sky’s a velvet navy, and the barn is lit up in warm gold, like we’re hosting a secret wedding reception that no one was invited to.
Roderick’s barefoot.Jeans cuffed, sleeves rolled.There’s a dimple in his cheek and a nervousness in his eyes that doesn’t match the easy rhythm of the music humming from the speakers.
“You’re quiet,” I say softly, standing beside him on the grass.The breeze carries the scent of hay, lake water, and that cinnamon-vanilla candle I accidentally left burning in the kitchen window.It feels like home.
He glances at me, then down at his feet.“Trying to remember this.”
“This?”
“This.You.That look in your eyes.The moon.How fucking lucky I am.”
I laugh because I don’t know what else to do with that.It lands in my chest and ripples outward.
“It’s not a special occasion,” I say, even though everything tonight feels like a celebration.The youth center opened yesterday.Dozens of kids rushed through its doors.They’ll have guitars, soccer balls, and people who see them.It’s the first time I’ve ever watched something go from an idea on a napkin to a living, breathing space filled with purpose.
He made that happen.
We made that happen.
“I don’t need a special occasion,” he murmurs.“I just need you to be here.”
I reach for his hand.“I am here.”
He pulls me closer, and we sway.Barely dancing.Just existing in time, letting the night wrap around us.Fireflies blink along the edges of the field.Our lights dot the pathway to the house like breadcrumbs in a fairy tale.
I lean into his chest, into the heart that nearly stopped beating two years ago.
This man.This stubborn, brilliant, aching man.He nearly didn’t make it.And now he’s here.Whole.Sober.Mine.
“You remember what I said yesterday?”he asks against my hair.
