He taps his chest.
“That means here. Not just here?—”
He flicks a finger at my bicep?—
“but here.”
I sit back, throat tight.
“Be her shelter,” he says. “Her harbor in the storm. The place where she breathes easier, not harder.”
He lets that settle.
“And Leo?” He lifts his bourbon.
“Romance doesn’t hurt.”
I huff a laugh. “That sounds like something Tristan would say.”
“Tristan,” he murmurs, “is right more often than anyone gives him credit for.”
I look at the fire again.
For the first time, I see a path forward.
Not through force.
Not through desperation.
Not through obsession.
Through heart.
Through proof.
Through effort worthy of the girl who’s becoming impossible to ignore.
My dad leans back in his leather chair. “So. What’s the plan?”
I exhale slowly.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “But I know it has to be big. And real. And honest. And… risky.”
His eyes glint.
“Good. Risk means you care.”
I stand.
He stands too.
We shake hands—firm, new understanding settling between us.
As I turn to leave, he calls after me:
“Leo—don’t try to win her back as the boy she loved. Become the man shedeserves.”
I nod once.
