“And you didn’t tell me?”
He stands, dusting his hands off. “Didn’t want you worrying about it,” he says. “You had enough.”
I stare at him, stunned. All my life, the logistics have been my burden. My responsibility. My mental load. My endless list of tasks that never stop.
And now there’s a man who wants to carry it with me, no carry it for me. Not because I asked. Because he saw it and decided I shouldn’t have to.
I sink onto the couch like my legs give out. Miles watches me with a faint smile. “You overwhelmed?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say honestly. “And I don’t know what to do with it.”
He walks over and leans down, bracing his hands on the couch on either side of me.
“Do with it whatever you want,” he murmurs. “Cry. Laugh. Yell at me. But don’t push it away.”
My eyes sting again. “You told me,” I say softly, “that you had money. But I thought you meant I don’t know, enough to be comfortable.”
Miles’ smile turns wry. “I am comfortable.”
“How?” I ask, still confused.
He hesitates a beat, then shrugs like it’s not worth the story. “I get some disability for my service related injuries. It gives me insurance that doesn’t cost cake even if it isn’t always the best coverage. I work and Hellions patched brothers get a cut of all club money. Invested well early on. Couple things paid out. Long time ago I decided if I was gonna live like I might die young, I’d still set myself up if I happened to make it beyond thirty-five.”
I swallow. “So you’re rich.”
He snorts. “Don’t start.”
“Miles,” I press. “You bought a house in a month.”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “And you don’t have to work unless you want to.”
The way he says it makes my chest ache. Not because I want to be taken care of like a child. But because no one has ever said it to me like my well-being matters.
“I like my work,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “And I’m in no way trying to take that from you.”
He shifts, sitting beside me, one arm draped behind my shoulders. “I just want you to know you don’t gotta grind yourself into dust anymore,” he explains gently. “Not for bills. Not for survival. Not for anyone.”
I stare at my hands in my lap, fingers twisting. “I don’t even know how to live like that,” I admit.
Miles presses a kiss to my forehead. “Then I’ll get to enjoy teaching you to breathe easy, baby.”
The simplicity of that makes my eyes fill again. Like life isn’t just something that happens to me. Like it’s something we build.
“No one has ever made things easy for me,” I whisper.
His eyes soften. “Then you were overdue,” he says.
My throat tightens. “I keep thinking,” I confess, “that I’m going to wake up and it won’t be real.”
Miles cups my face. “Then I’ll keep proving it,” he confirms, “Every day.”
The words break something open in me. I don’t even realize I’m crying until he wipes my cheeks.
“I don’t deserve this,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens, not angry—convicted. “Don’t,” he says firmly. “Don’t ever talk like that again.”
