“That’s not an excuse. Just the truth. I was scared.” The admission felt like ripping off his own skin. “Scared of failing you. Hurting you. Proving I’m still the same man who burned down a building and killed four people.”
Maggie stood perfectly still, watching him with those green eyes that saw too much. She knew this story. He’d written it in one of his earliest letters, but for reasons he couldn’t name, it felt important to say it out loud now, standing in front of her.
“I didn’t mean to kill Eddie Kowalski or anyone else. But I did because I was so goddamn sure I was right, that I knew better, and Sentinel Defense deserved to pay for their greed.” He shoved up his sleeves and held out his hands, showing the burn scars. “That’s who I am, Maggie. And I’ve spent the last thirteen years trying to be better, but when I’m with you…”
“When you’re with me, what?” she prompted when he trailed off.
“I lose control,” he admitted. “And it terrifies me.”
“Anson.” She took another step toward him, and this time he didn’t retreat. She took his cold hands in hers and traced the scars there with her fingertips. “The man who wrote to me for six years isn’t someone I need to fear. You’re not violent. You’re not cruel. You’re good, Anson. Even when you can’t see it yourself.”
His throat tightened around words he couldn’t form. How could she have such faith in him when he had none in himself?
“I saw violence and cruelty today at Haven House,” she continued. “A woman arrived. Sarah. She was beaten so badly that she could barely stand. I sat with her for hours. Heard her story. And all I could think was how easily that could’ve been me if things with Landry had gone differently. If I’d been weaker orhe’d been smarter, or if I hadn’t decided one random day to join a prison pen pal program.”
He shook his head, not understanding what one thing had to do with the other. “How did that?—”
“I got away from Landry because ofyou. Because of your letters.”
“My… letters?”
She stepped closer, hands sliding up to circle his neck. “When Landry started showing his true colors, I recognized the warning signs because of what you’d written about your own journey. About accountability. About change versus empty promises. Without your letters, I might have believed Landry’s apologies. Might have stayed. Might have ended up exactly where Sarah is now, or worse. So you see, you didn’t just change your own life. You changed mine, too.”
His greatest shame had somehow been her salvation. The thought left him reeling.
She studied his face for a long moment. “Did you mean what you wrote in that letter last night? About loving me?”
He didn’t answer right away, couldn’t, and just stared down at her. This beautiful woman who’d seen him at his lowest and chosen him anyway, who was standing here asking him to be brave enough to choose her back, to say out loud what he’d only managed in written words until now.
“Yes.” No hedging, no retreat. “I love you. Have since the first letter. You were my light in the dark, Maggie. The only thing that kept me human. And now that you’re standing here in front of me, I’m fucking it all up, and I don’t know how to stop.”
“You haven’t fucked anything up yet. Not beyond repair.”
“I pushed you away.”
“And I let you because you weren’t exactly like your letters. But Bear reminded me today that no one’s exactly like they are on paper.”
Something like a startled laugh burst out of him. “Bear? The guy who speaks exclusively in grunts?”
“Yes, Bear. He was actually very insightful.” She smiled, a small upward quirk of her lips that was somehow both sad and beautiful. “And he’s right. We’re both more complicated and flawed than what fits on a page.”
“You’re not flawed,” he said automatically.
“Anson.” His name came out in an exasperated sigh. “I’m stubborn, defensive, and almost sociopathically independent. I push when I should wait. I want you to be honest with me, but I’m not always honest with myself. Those letters were all the best parts of you, and I fell in love with that man.” She moved closer and dragged her hands down to rest on his chest over his heart. “But now I need the rest of you. The mess. The scars. The fear. Let me fall in love with all of you.”
He didn’t deserve this second chance—or third, or fourth, or however many they were on now. But he wanted it. Jesus, how he wanted it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. He brought his hands up to cup her face, thumbs tracing the curves of her cheeks. “I’ll do better.”
“I know you will.” She leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. “We both will.”
Then she brushed her lips against his, a ghost of contact that left him aching for more. He followed when she pulled back, chasing her warmth, but she placed a hand on his chest to stop him.
He understood why. They’d called a tentative truce, but he had more to do to make up for treating her like he had last night. He stepped back, but she caught his hand, lacing her fingers through his scarred ones.
“I miss our kittens.”
Ourkittens.
