It was quiet. Earnest. Like he was at ease with whom he was becoming. “Hey,” he said.
My throat closed around the word. “Hey.”
He held the flowers out first. “These are for you.”
I took them like they were fragile. Like they were something sacred.
“I wasn’t sure what kind you liked,” he admitted, a faint blush staining his cheeks.
“These are perfect,” I said honestly, lifting them to my nose and inhaling their sweet, wild scent.
They smelled like sunshine and survival. Like love grown out of cracks in stone. Like what I hoped we’d become.
Then he pulled out two drinks, handed one to me, and instead of talking, we just sat there. Side by side. Letting the silence breathe. Our shoulders almost touching without forcing anything. Just existing together. And for once, that was enough.
After a while Anthony took my empty bottle and put it away and then stood, hand outstretched. “Come up to the top with me? Sunset’s almost here.”
I took his hand without hesitation. A full-body shudder rolled through me at the feel of his rough skin when his hand wrapped around mine. We climbed the steps inside the lighthouse slowly. Side by side, fingers brushing with every step. We didn’t rush, we savored every second. Not pretending we weren’t relearning the shape of each other.
When we reached the top, Whispering Cove spread out below us, draped in gold and blue, an endless horizon. The water was calm, reflecting the sky like it was trying to hold onto every color.
It wasn’t roaring or trying to pull me under anymore. It was breathing, existing at peace.
We sat on the low wall, braced against the railing. The silence between us wasn’t heavy. It was full.
Anthony exhaled and finally turned to face me fully. He brought his knee to his chest and rested his elbow on it, fingers worrying at the seam of his jeans.
“I need to say some things,” he said. “Let me preface this by saying you don’t owe me forgiveness just because I showed up with flowers.”
My chest tightened. I nodded, licking my suddenly dry lips.
“I left you when you needed me,” he said. “Twice. I told myself I was protecting you, but the truth is… I was protecting myself. From my own fear. From my guilt. From wanting something I didn’t think I deserved.”
His hands curled into fists.
“I thought I loved your mom because she accepted me as I was when no one else ever had. I confused acceptance with love. I stayed friends with your dad because being wanted felt better than being treated well. I took his approval and called it loyalty, even as it hurt.”
His voice shook.
“I learned that pattern from my father. From being taught that love meant obedience. And acceptance meant silencing who I really was.”
He swallowed hard.
“And then you came back into my life. And I felt something I didn’t have the language or emotional awareness to understand. It was something terrifying and pure. Wrong-timed and right all at once.”
My eyes burned.
“I knew you were broken,” he continued. “And I still let myself fall. Then I punished you for it by leaving. By abandoning you when the feelings got too real. By making your worst fear come true.”
Tears slid down his face, mirroring my own as they dripped down my face.
“I don’t deserve how much you love me,” he murmured hoarsely. “And… I don’t expect you to trust me yet. But I’m not running anymore. I’m in therapy. I’m volunteering. I’m learninghow not to confuse control with care. How not to disappear when things get hard.”
He lifted his hand slowly, like he was asking permission with every inch of the movement, and cupped my face. His thumb brushed away my tears.
“I will spend the rest of my life earning the right to stand next to you,” he said. “If you let me.”
My chest ached so badly I thought it might splinter apart.
