“Before you and April came into my life, I had everything mapped out. I had the same routine every day. I followed the same schedule, had the same goals, and expected the same results.” His thumbs pause in their gentle tracing. “I thought that all I needed was structure, control, and hockey. Those three things had always been enough.”
I can barely breathe as I listen, afraid he’ll stop if I move or speak.
“But if I had to go back to that now…” He pauses, and the pure vulnerability that flashes across his face is enough to make my knees go weak. “If I had to go back to that empty house, back to living by myself and following those same routines day after day, I would feel like a part of me died.”
My heart clenches in my chest.
“Because a part of me was brought to life because of you,” he continues. “And that part can only survive as long as you’re with me.”
Oh god.
Tears would be rolling down my cheeks right about now if I hadn’t already cried them all out. Instead, I drag in a shaky breath and try to find my voice through the emotions that are clogging my throat.
“You brought a part of me to life, too,” I say, because it’s the absolute truth. “A part I thought Steven killed a long time ago.”
Grant’s hands tighten slightly on my face, but his eyes stay focused on mine.
“I forgot what it felt like to be seen,” I continue. “Really seen. Not as April’s mom or as someone’s ex or as a problem to be fixed. Just as me. As Heather.”
“That’s all you’ve ever been to me. Just Heather. Beautiful, strong, stubborn Heather who makes me laugh and drives me crazy and makes me want things I never thought I could have.”
I let out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re my mess.” He flashes the smallest smile. “And I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”
If I’ll have him.
This man who learned to sew so he could fix April’s shirt. Who makes breakfast for us without being asked. Who looks at my daughter like she hung the moon. Who just told me that hockey—his entire life’s purpose—isn’t enough anymore without us in it.
If I’ll have him.
I open my mouth to answer, but he stops me before I can say anything.
“I know you’re scared,” he interrupts gently. “I know Steven showing up today terrified you. I know you think running is the answer because it’s what’s kept you safe all these years. But Heather—” He pulls back just enough to look directly into my eyes. “You don’t have to run anymore. Not from him. Not from this. Not from me.”
I believe him. I do. And I don’t want to be this person who is full of doubts, always second-guessing the good things in my life. But some habits die hard, and nobody can predict the future. Not even Grant.
“What if he comes back?”
“Then we’ll deal with it together.” His voice is firm now. Solid. Reassuring. Exactly what I need. “We’ll get a restraining order. We’ll talk to a lawyer. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and April safe, but we’ll do it together.”
Together.
It’s almost a foreign word, but the more he says it, the more I get used to hearing it. And the more it starts to chase away some of the cold fear that’s been living in my chest since I heard Steven’s voice on the phone this morning.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit—as much to myself as to him. “I don’t know how to let someone in like this.”
“Neither do I.” His thumbs resume their gentle tracing along my jaw. “But I want to figure it out with you.”
He leans in to kiss me, and I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring all my fear and hope and desperate need to believe into it. He’s just as insistent as he moves against me. One of his hands slides into my hair while the other stays cupped against my jaw, cradling me. Holding me. Keeping me safe.
It’s nothing like the hungry, passionate moments we’ve shared in the dark. This is deeper, but I’m not ready to talk about it out loud yet. Not while everything around us is still so chaotic.
When we finally separate, both of us a little breathless, he keeps his forehead pressed against mine. His breath mingles with mine, and I can feel his heartbeat where my palms rest against his chest.
“You’ll stay?” There’s a hesitation in his voice, like he’s afraid I might still change my mind.
“I’ll stay,” I promise, and saying it out loud makes it feel more real. More permanent.
