When he spoke, his voice was rough. Low. The voice he used in the dark when it was just us. "Come here."
"Jack—"
"Maggie. Come here."
I went. Because my body chose him before my brain could object, the same way it always did. He reached out—slow, careful, giving me every chance to pull away—and cupped myface in both hands. His palms were warm and calloused, and I wanted to close my eyes and disappear into the steadiness of him.
"You are too much," he said.
My stomach dropped. The floor opened up beneath me, and I started to pull away?—
His hands tightened. Not hard. Just enough to keep me there. Keep me looking at him.
"You're too smart. Too fierce. Too stubborn. Too beautiful. Too brave." His thumbs traced my cheekbones, and his eyes held mine, leaving nowhere to hide. "You're too much for any man who needs you to be less so he can feel like enough. And Daniel was that man, and he was a coward, and he was wrong."
My eyes burned. I would not cry. I would absolutely not cry. I was Maggie Blackwood, and I did not fall apart in front of?—
"I don't need you to be less," Jack said. "I don't need you to stay in the safe zone or manage yourself down to a size that's comfortable for me. I need you to come into the light, Maggie. All the way. The full, unfiltered, too-much version of you." His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. "Because that's the woman I'm falling in love with. And I'm not Daniel. I'm not going to break under the weight of you. I want the weight."
I cried.
Not big, dramatic sobs. Just tears slipping free despite my best efforts, years of self-containment cracking open in the face of being seen. Being wanted. Being chosen.
He didn't tell me it was okay. Didn't try to fix it. He just pulled me close and held me while I fell apart, and he didn't flinch. Didn't step back. He just held on tighter.
I pressed my face against his chest and let the tears come. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear. His arms were solid around me. The crutch clattered to the ground. I didn't care.
Sully pressed against our legs, and I felt Jack's hand stroke down my back in slow, soothing passes. Not trying to stop the tears. Just being there.
When I finally pulled back, wiping my face with embarrassed fury, I couldn't quite meet his eyes.
"I'm not good at this," I managed.
"I know."
"I'm going to be difficult."
"I know that too."
Was that a smirk? It was absolutely a smirk. I was having an emotional breakdown, and Jack was smirking at me. But he was also watching me with something that looked terrifyingly like tenderness, his hands still resting lightly on my waist, his expression open in a way that made my chest ache.
"And I'm not—I can't promise—" I stopped. The words kept tangling up on my tongue. "Just… don't rush me. Please. I need time to figure out how to do this without losing myself."
Jack's thumb brushed my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I'd missed.
"I'm not going anywhere, Maggie." His voice was quiet. Certain. A promise that didn't demand anything in return. "Take all the time you need."
Instead of feeling like a trap, it felt like the first full breath I'd taken in years.
I stood there in the morning light, held loosely in Jack's arms, and let myself feel it. The terror of being vulnerable. The strange, fragile hope blooming in my chest like something I'd forgotten how to name.
Jack didn't push for more. Didn't try to kiss me or escalate the moment. He just held me until I was ready to step back on my own.
When I finally did, I felt lighter. Like I'd set down a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying.
"I should probably let you get back to work," I said. My voice was rough, post-cry raspy.
"Probably." But Jack didn't move away. "You okay?"
