“No,” he says with urgency. He grabs my head between his hands. “No more manipulation. Iwantyou, Jenna. With Killian and me. Or just with me if he doesn’t want to be part of it. Notjust because of the competition. Because ofthis.” He nods down at the kitten. “Your beautiful, caring, vulnerable soul. Because you’d rather hurt yourself than risk a defenseless kitten getting lost. Because of your honest and open submission. Because of your deep, inherent strength.”
“I’m not strong,” I say, shutting my eyes as a tear spills over.
“Oh yes, you are. Maybe not in a conventional way, but in the way that counts. You took a chance and came here to pursue your dreams, even knowing the risks.”
“I had no choice.”
“Yes, you did. You could have easily returned to your life—continued waitressing and become a paralegal.”
“My boss was about to fire me. I had no choice,” I insist.
“Don’t sell yourself short. You know as well as I do that he would have kept you on if you dropped the piano and refocused your energy on your job. You didn’t agree to this arrangement because you didn’t have a choice.”
Shame washing over me, I squeeze my eyes shut. He’s right. Ichosethis. “I hate myself for that,” I say in a bitter voice.
Ian gives my head a shake. “Look at me.”
I peel my eyes open at his urgent tone.
“Don’teversay that again.”
More tears spill over, trailing down my cheeks. “I just came straight back, to the men who ruined my life, to be humiliated and treated as property. Who does that?”
“Someone who wantsmore. Someone who has the courage to risk everything to get it. You wanted more out of life—to feel and to experience beauty. Music. Dominance and submission. You knew you could get all that here.”
“Yeah, at the risk of being destroyed.”
“Exactly. That’s what makes you so strong. Strength doesn’t come from following the easy path. Strength comes from the willingness to take risks and face danger. You risked it all.”
My chest shakes with a long exhale. I never saw it that way, but as I soak up the certainty in Ian’s expression—maybe even admiration—things start to shift. The kernel of confidence he has already planted in me and watered repeatedly finally starts to take root. It doesn’t fix the uncertainty of my situation or the hurt of Killian’s constant rejections, but it allows me to lean into the moment and Ian’s strength and hope that somehow he’ll find a way for us to be together.
“Good girl,” Ian says with a warm smile, sensing that I’m finally taking his words to heart. “Now, give me the kitten and let me help you up.”
I gingerly transfer the now sleeping kitten to his hand. It looks so fragile in his big, veiny paw. But safe too. As he takes my hand in the other and helps me up, I remember that’s exactly how I feel with him too. Fragile, but safe. It’s not a new feeling, but at this moment, it feels more real than it ever has before. For the first time, I truly, deep down, believe that he wants me.
***
Ian tends to my cut hands, cleaning and bandaging them, then spends the rest of the day helping me take care of the kitten. He takes us to the vet and the pet store, then clears a corner in the living room for a cat bed and a scratching post. Finally, he orders pizza, which we eat on the couch while we watch one of my favorite rom-coms.
We don’t talk about much besides the kitten—what to call it, how to take care of it, and how it reminds me of Nan’s cats. A heavy somberness lingers between us. Things that should be said and addressed. But neither of us is willing to go there, knowing it might burst the flimsy bubble of closeness and connection we’ve sunk into.
When we’re lying in his bed at night, the kitten—which I decided to name Ginny after one of Nan’s cats—asleep in the living room, the silence stretches heavy between us. We just lie there for a long while, me with my head on Ian’s chest, him holding me tight and stroking my arm, neither of us sleeping. I want to apologize for running off earlier, and I want to tell him all the things I’ve been bottling up lately, but I don’t have it in me to face all those heavy emotions right now, so I ask about something safe instead.
“Do you ever miss playing concerts?”
Ian stops stroking me, resting his hand on my arm. “Not really. I’m quite satisfied with my life as it is. I play all I want here, and I perform a few concerts a year. That’s enough.”
“But weren’t you touring all the time when Killian was little?”
“I was.” He pauses. His voice is raw with guilt when he continues. “I had to get away from his mom.”
Suddenly, that somberness is back, but this time, it’s easier to bear since it doesn’t seem to hang between us, rather around us—in a past that’s not relevant to our future. I stroke gentle circles on his chest, hoping I can lend him some of the same comfort he always gives me. “Why?”
He draws a long sigh, full of years of hurt and regret. “I was selfish. I couldn’t stand seeing how infatuated she was with the bottle—seeing her choose it over me.” The darkness of the room seems to open up for an honesty I hadn’t expected. “I fled,” Ian admits with aching sincerity. “I was a coward. I refused to acknowledge that I wasn’t the only one she had pushed aside in favor of the bottle. And Killian got to pay for that. I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since. Stopping touring was the easiest decision I ever made. But I don’t think anything I did truly made up for it. The damage had been done.”
His hand tightens around my arm, the grip full of hurt. I keep stroking him, leaning into him, knowing there’s nothing I can say to make it better. All I can do is be here for him.
After a while, when the worst of his tension starts to drain, I ask, “Was there a time when you loved her?”
