“I’m trying to believe this is possible,” I say.“Trying to accept myself ...and my sexuality.”
The words hang there—too soft for how loud they feel inside me.But I don’t take them back.I can’t.
Callaway’s eyes finally meet mine.“You say that like you believe it’ll happen.”
I stare at him until he has no choice but to look back.Until he can’t hide in the silence anymore.
“I want to,” I say, voice barely steady.“Because I did fall for you—just like I did for her.I just ...I was scared.Scared of what it would cost.Not just that people wouldn’t accept us—but that you wouldn’t.That you’d leave.That I wouldn’t matter enough to make you stay.”
His breath catches—sharp and quiet—like wanting me is somehow more terrifying than losing me.
“I ...”He swallows.“You’d already lost so much.And maybe I—I wasn’t that serious back then.About anything.Especially not myself.”
“I’m not asking you to absolve me,” I whisper.
“It’s not an absolution.”His voice cracks a little.“It’s me trying to make peace with the version of me who didn’t know how to love properly.With that teenage you ...he was lonely as hell, and I didn’t see it.Or maybe I did, but I didn’t know what to do with it.”
He shifts closer, reaching toward me like he needs to close the distance between then and now.
“I hope I’m old enough now to slow down.To talk.To make better choices.And not to let either of you go.”
I shift closer.Not yet getting in her space.Just enough that he feels I’m there.My shoulder brushes his.A quiet line drawn between us.
I give him the truth without soft edges.“I’ve spent my whole career learning how to be a man in a room full of men who measure you like they’re waiting for you to fail.You know what happens if you give them a different target.”
Callaway’s throat works.
“Monty ...”
“I’m not proud of it,” I snap, quieter, because Vesper is right there and she deserves softness in her sleep.“But I’m not going to pretend I don’t have it in me.That ugly reflex.That voice that says,Don’t.Not you.Not here.”
Callaway’s eyes sting with understanding.“Internalized?—”
“Don’t label it,” I cut in, because the word makes my skin crawl even though it’s true.“Just ...let me say it how it feels.”
He nods immediately.Just listens.And somehow, that almost breaks me.
“I’m trying,” I say—and it’s the closest I get to pleading.“I’m trying to unlearn it.Trying to undo all the years of pretending.I want to be the man she thinks I am when she looks at me like I’m safe.”
My voice dips lower.Barely more than a breath.
“And the man you deserve too.”
Callaway glances at Vesper—curled beside us, fast asleep and trusting—then back to me.His eyes shine, his throat working.
“You are safe,” he says, voice cracking.“You’ll always be safe with me—with us.”
I almost laugh.Almost.
“Sometimes,” I admit.“Sometimes I’m a locked door, and I don’t even know what I’m keeping out anymore.”
Callaway’s hand leaves Vesper’s hair—just for a second—and lands on my forearm.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he says.
I look at his hand like it’s something holy.
Then I cover it with mine.
