A knot formed, but I didn’t speak or move; I just listened.
“I keep thinking I’m going to mess it up,” she said, a shaky breath leaving her. “That I’ll do something wrong or say something wrong or… I don’t know. That you’ll realize I don’t actually know how to be this for someone.”
“You don’t have to—”
She shook her head gently. “No, let me say it.”
So I did.
“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what people needed,” she continued. “Being capable. Being reliable. Being the one who shows up and holds everything together. And now—” her voice wavered slightly, “—now you’re asking me to just… be. And I don’t know how to do that without feeling like I’m going to break it.”
My grip on her hand tightened.
“You’re not going to.”
“And what if I am?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What if I’m… broken, Logan? What if my body fails me again? What if I can’t give you more? What if I can’t have kids? What if this is all I ever get, and I still find a way to mess it up?” She gestured between us.
The room froze before I stepped forward, closing the space between us without thinking, my hand lifting to her face, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye.
“Darlin’,” I said softly, my voice steady even when everything in me felt anything but, “that doesn’t change a damn thing for me.”
Her breath hitched.
“If all I have is Harper and you,” I continued, pressing my forehead to hers, “that’s more than I thought I’d ever get.”
Her eyes searched mine, like she didn’t quite believe it yet.
“You loving me?” I murmured, my thumb still tracing slow, grounding circles against her skin. “That’s more than enough.”
Something in her gave way then, her face crumpled with relief and surrender. Her shoulders finally dropped, tension melting off her frame, replaced by something like hope.
“Logan…” she whispered.
I didn’t give her time to pull back.
Didn’t give myself time to think.
I leaned in, kissing her slowly this time, wholeheartedly, as if I needed her to feel exactly what I meant without having to say anything else.
Her hands found my shirt, gripping tight, and I let her—let her hold on, let her anchor herself in it.
When I pulled back, I stayed close, my forehead still resting against hers.
“You scare the hell outta me,” I admitted quietly.
Her lips curved, soft but real this time. “Good,” she whispered. “You scare me, too.”
That honesty, sharp and bright, was so her I couldn’t keep myself away from her any longer.
When our lips met, it was desperate, pouring every unsaid thing into the way I held her. The grief, the want, the fear of hurting Harper, the hope I hadn’t let myself touch.
Now that my hands were on her, there was no chance I was letting go, I dragged my hands down to her waist, my thumbs pressing in like I needed proof she was still here. I felt the slight tremor in her hands as they slowly slid up my chest, before her fingers curled into my shirt.
“I’m still scared,” she whispered breathlessly.
“So am I,” I said honestly. “But I ain’t runnin’.”
She looked up at me then, eyes steady. “Me neither.”
