“You okay?”
She nodded, slow and dreamy. “Really,reallyokay.”
“That wasn’t, uh, too much?”
“Bennett.” She said my name like she was tasting it, like it was something sweet. “I think it’s pretty obvious that I loved it.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
She laughed under her breath, embarrassed but sure. “It felt like— Like the volume on my body got turned all the way up and you were the only one who knew how to work the remote. Does that make sense?”
Relief crashed over me so hard, I had to close my eyes for a second. When I opened them again, she was staring at me, head tilted to one side.
“I thought maybe I pushed too hard,” I admitted quietly.
“You didn’t.”
“Good. Because the second I’m home, we’re doing that in person. And I’m not stopping until you can’t walk straight.”
Her eyes went wide, then sparkled with that shy, eager excitement I loved.
Loved.
The word hit me square in the chest, sudden and undeniable.
Because it wasn’t just that I loved the way she looked right now—flushed and rumpled and grinning at me through a phone screen—or the way she saw the world in bright, precise detail that made everything feel new.
I lovedher.
All five-foot-six of complicated, brilliant, fiercely independent, farm-visiting, honey dust-licking woman curled up onmypillow, twelve-hundred miles away.
And as much as I hated to admit it, the realization didn’t feel like fireworks. It felt like standing on the edge of the warning track, staring down a runner barreling toward home, knowing that one wrong move would turn everything to shit.
“When will you be back?”
“Not soon enough,” I said, voice steady even if nothing else was. “But I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She hummed, content. I brushed my thumb over the screen like I could touch her cheek and make this,us,work by sheer force of will.
“Go to sleep, baby. I’m right here.”
She did, lashes fanning dark against her cheeks. Within minutes, her breathing evened out completely, lips parted on soft, sleepy exhales. Only then did I end our call.
And just like always, as soon as the line went dead and I was left alone in the dark, the monsters came out to play.
These weren’t the kind that hid under the bed either. No, these fuckers sat square on my chest, familiar as the scar on my throwing hand.
They told me that I was selfish for wanting Bella. Taunted me about my life built on headlines and hotel bills. Warned me that no love would be powerful enough to protect Bella from the cameras or, even worse, the rabid fans.
I could feel my throat beginning to close.
Worst of all, they echoed the thing I already knew in my bones—Bella deserved better.
Someone who could give her calm instead of chaos, whose body wasn’t held together by tape and rehab and a half-hearted prayer. Loving her didn’t scare me—hurting her did.
And unfortunately, the monsters knew that, too.
Bella
