But the gap between us feels insurmountable. Not just the years. Everything.
She's young. Bright. Full of life she hasn't lived yet.
And I'm... this.
A man in a wheelchair. A man who can't walk. A man who wakes up screaming from nightmares about his own wedding day.
A corpse among living people.
That's what I am.
That's what I've been since I woke up from that coma and realized everything had changed.
"She deserves better," I say.
"Better than what?"
"Better than me."
Valentino is quiet for a long moment.
Then he moves. Pulls a chair over. Sits down so we're at eye level.
"You don't know her," he says. "Not really. How can you decide what she deserves when you haven't even tried to understand who she is?"
"I know enough."
"You know nothing." Valentino leans forward.
I shake my head.
"She touched me," I say quietly. "At the party. Put her hand on my shoulder. And I..."
I trail off.
I don't know how to explain it.
The way my whole body responded. The way everything went still. The way I wanted to lean into that touch and never let go.
It terrified me.
It still terrifies me.
Because I can't afford to want her.
I can't afford to need anyone.
Need is weakness. Need is vulnerability. Need is how you get destroyed.
I learned that lesson in the hospital. Waking up paralyzed. Realizing everyone I loved had moved on without me.
I will not learn it again.
"She doesn't deserve a husband who can't even stand," I say. "She doesn't deserve a man who has to be helped into bed every night. She doesn't deserve?—"
"Stop."
Valentino's voice cuts through my spiral.
