The truth settles between us, heavy enough to split the floor open.
“And once I got here, I promised myself no one would ever be allowed close enough to tear it away from me again. No one would ever get the chance to say I wasn’t professional enough, or controlled enough, or distant enough. Control kept me employed. Control protected me. Control saved me.”
Kyle steps closer, expression wrecked. “Alycia…”
“I can’t lose everything again and letting this be real… feels like handing someone a match,” I choke out, more tears sliding down my cheek, but I don’t bother hiding it this time.
“I know you’re not him, but the last time I trusted a man with my future, he used it to destroy me. I don’t think I’d survive having it taken again.”
“Alycia… God.” Kyle’s throat works around a breath that sounds too tight, too full of things he can’t contain. “No wonder you’re terrified.”
“What he did to you wasn’t about trust or professionalism. It was about power. He stole from you.” His jaw tightens until a tremor runs through it. “And made you rebuild your life out of the rubble he created.” His eyes shine with something fierce and unbearably tender. “You did that all on your own. I’m not here to take any of that from you.”
My breath stutters, not a simple hitch, but an uneven collapse of air, like my lungs have forgotten how to function under the weight of what he’s saying.
“I don’t want your career,” he says, softer now, and the way he sayscareerfeels like he’s touching something precious with both hands. “I don’t want your safety or control. Most importantly, I don’t want to be another man you have to protect yourself from.”
My stomach twists from the terrifying gentleness of what he’s offering. No pressure. No demands. The offer reveals every place I’ve been wounded. My fingers curl into my palms, grounding me in something real because my pulse is sprinting too fast to keep up.
“I just want to be someone who doesn’t hurt you.” His voice drops to a whisper, wrecked and steady all at once.
My chest caves in around the words. I feel it behind my sternum, a tight, trembling contraction that steals a little of my balance.
“You don’t owe me trust on my timeline.” His eyes close briefly, as if he’s bracing himself againstsomething sharp. “You don’t owe me anything except whatever feels safe for you.”
Inside me, everything is shaking in the deep inner places, the ones that never learned how to accept softness without suspecting it was a setup. My throat burns like something trapped there is trying to claw its way out. The fear. The want. The years of staying small.
When he opens his eyes again, everything he feels is right there, and the look hits me so hard I almost sway. “And I’ll stand wherever you need me, even if it’s miles back from where I want to be.”
Something inside me fractures in a place I’ve kept locked for years. Kyle looks at me like he’s standing on the edge of something he can’t step back from. His jaw flexes once, a muscle jumping like it’s fighting to contain a truth too big to stay inside him.
“Alycia…” he starts, and my name sounds rougher, as if he’s dragged it up from some place that’s been aching for too long. “I know I have no right to say this in the middle of your fear.”
His voice cracks on the wordfear, the fracture so subtle most people wouldn’t catch it, but I do.
“And I swear I’m not saying it to push you. I’m not saying it for an answer. I’m not saying it so you give me something you’re not ready to give.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple gliding in a tight, shaky line. “I’m saying it because it’s the truest thing I have.”
My hands tremble from some electric, unbearable mixture of hope and disbelief. My stomach clenches,and my vision blurs around the edges, as if the world has narrowed to the space between us.
“I love you.”
The words don’t fall smoothly. They break, tearing their way out of him, like they’ve been pressing against his ribs for months and finally found a crack big enough to slip through. Heat surges behind my eyes, not tears yet, just the desperate, aching pressure of wanting something you’ve spent years teaching yourself you can’t have.
“I love you,” he says again, quieter this time, like he’s testing whether the world will collapse by admitting it. “I don’t want anything from you because I told you that. I just need you to know.
His eyes are glassy, with emotion held so tightly it trembles in place.
“Never mistake my patience for indifference, or the distance I’m giving you as apathy. It’s not.” He shakes his head, breath thickening. “It’s all because I love you.”
A tremor runs through my chest, down my arms, and into my fingertips. Every muscle in my body feels too tight and too loose at the same time, like I’m simultaneously falling apart and holding myself rigid to keep from doing exactly that.
“And if you need space,” he takes a step back, voice barely a whisper, “I’ll give it. If you need time, I’ll wait. If you need me to be quiet, I’ll stay quiet. Whatever you decide… the only thing I want is for it to be something that doesn’t cost you pieces of yourself.”
His gaze drags over my face with a reverence thatsteals the last bit of strength from my knees, and then he turns. The movement is small, but the space it creates is enormous. His departure feels like something being unstitched from the inside. I keep my eyes locked on him as he climbs onto his bike and starts the engine. He turns and winks at me, causing me to giggle softly before pulling his helmet on and riding out of the parking lot, disappearing into the darkness.
The world keeps moving, but I don’t. Not really. I stay there long after the echo of his engine disappears into the night, but eventually, my body remembers how to move. However, nothing feels the same.
Not the quiet ride home or the way my hands shake when I unlock the door. Not the empty hum of my apartment when I try to pretend I can breathe without him. I don’t sleep. I just sit in the dark with all the truths I’ve spent years refusing to look at.
