Or I can tell her the truth.
"Stay."
The word comes out rough. Raw. It costs me something to say it—a vulnerability I've spent years refusing to show.
Her brow furrows. "What?"
"Stay." I take her hands in mine, holding tight. "Don't leave. Don't get your own place. Stay here, with me."
"Levi, I can't just?—"
"You can. You should." I take a breath, forcing myself to say the words I've been avoiding. "I want you here. Not because you need protection. Not because of Varro or the club or any of that bullshit. Because I want you. Because having you here, in my space, in my life—it's the first thing that's felt right in longer than I can remember."
She stares at me, lips parted, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You don't mean that."
"I do."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough." I reach up, brushing the tears from her face. "I know you're strong, even when you don't feel like it. I know you're kind, even after everything the world's done to you. I know you make me feel things I thought I'd forgotten how to feel." I pause. "I know I love you."
The words hang in the air between us.
Ripley's breath catches. "You... what?"
"I love you." Saying it the second time is easier. Still terrifying, but easier. "I don't know when it happened. Don't know how. But I do. And the thought of you leaving—of wakingup and you not being here—" I shake my head. "I can't do that. I won't."
"Levi." She whispers my name like a prayer. "I'm a mess. I'm broken and scared and I still have nightmares about a dead man. I don't know if I'm capable of being what you need."
"You're exactly what I need."
"How can you be sure?"
"I'm not." I cup her face in my hands, tilting it up so she meets my eyes. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. But I know how I feel. I know what I want. And I want you. All of you. The broken pieces, the scared parts, everything. If you'll let me."
She's crying openly now, tears streaming down her face. But she's smiling too—a watery, trembling smile that breaks something open in my chest.
"I'm scared," she whispers.
"I know."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"Then we figure it out. Together."
"What if I'm too damaged? What if I can't?—"
"Ripley." I cut her off with a kiss. Soft. Gentle. A promise more than a passion. When I pull back, her eyes are wide. Wondering. "Stop looking for reasons to run. Just... stay. Please."
She's quiet for a long moment. I can see the war playing out behind her eyes—fear versus hope, doubt versus desire.
Three years of learned helplessness fighting against the possibility of something new, then she nods.
"Okay," she whispers. "I'll stay."
The relief that floods through me is almost overwhelming.
I pull her into my arms, holding her tight, burying my face in her hair.
