I held his gaze.There was no armor left.No calculation.Just truth.
“My parents taught me how to win,” he said quietly.“They never taught me how to stay.”
My chest tightened.
“I told myself you were temporary.That this—” his mouth curved faintly, without humor “—was contained.”
I didn’t interrupt.This wasn’t something to rush.
“I was wrong,” he said.“I fell in love with you.And I didn’t know what to do with that.”
Tears burned, but I didn’t look away.
“I love your daughters,” he continued.“Not because they make me feel like a savior—but because they trust me.And I want to deserve that trust.”
My breath shook.“I’m scared,” I admitted.“Of how much it costs to love you.Of what it takes from me.”
He stepped close—not claiming, not crowding.
“Then we pay it together,” he said.“Or we don’t pay it at all.”
He took my hand and pressed it over his heart.It was still racing.
“This is open,” he said.“Not owned.Chosen.”
Something in my chest finally loosened—something I hadn’t realized I was still holding tight.
“We had an agreement,” I said softly.
He didn’t correct me right away.
His thumb traced slow, absent circles over my knuckles—grounding, thoughtful.
“That was the collar,” he said finally.Not dismissive.Honest.
“This is a commitment.”His voice didn’t waver.“Chosen.Every day.”
He met my eyes.
“You have my heart.I love you, Peyton.”
I leaned in and kissed him.
Not tentative.Not desperate.
Honest.
He kissed me back like a man who understood what it meant to stay.
When we pulled apart, my forehead rested against his.
“Scared?”he murmured.
“Hell yes.”
“So am I.”Then he smiled—real, unguarded.“But I’m here.”
Later, after the nurses dimmed the lights and the hallway quieted, Creed sat beside me.He didn’t hold me.Didn’t try to fix anything.
