“Because we’ve already done harder things,” I say. “You survived what you survived as a kid. I watched my dad walk out and had to learn that love doesn’t always look the way it’s supposed to. This?” I gesture between us. “This iscomplicated. It’s notimpossible.”
Caleb leans into me then, full weight, like the little last bit of tension finally gives out. His forehead drops to my shoulder.
“I don’t feel brave,” he mumbles.
“That’s what makes it brave,” I say. “Doing it anyway.”
“But,” I continue, “if he chooses not to? If he decides his fear and his idea of what your life should look like matter more than you? Then that’s his loss, not ours. I’ll be pissed but you need to know I’ll still come home to you.”
He looks like I just handed him something fragile and heavy.
“You promise?” he asks.
“I promise,” I say. “And if he tries to blame me for… I dunno, turning you onto cock or some stupid shit, I will politely and firmly tell him to go fuck himself. In lawyer language, so he understands.”
A weak smile flickers at the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna cuss out a lawyer in legalese.”
“Damn right,” I say. “Gonna hit him with a ‘with all due respect, your honor, that’s some world-class bullshit.’”
That gets him to snort again, the sound of it loosening something in my chest.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”
I press a kiss to his temple, and he leans into it like a plant toward sunlight.
“You proud of yourself at all?” I ask after a minute.
Frowning, he looks at me with a look of annoyance. “For what? Having a breakdown?”
“For telling the truth,” I say. “For not hiding. For giving your dad the chance to step up, even if he’s not sure how yet. For choosing to tell me instead of letting this fester until three in the morning, when I then have to go break down your door and scare the shit out of your roommate.”
He considers that, brow furrowing.
“Dr. Kaur would be,” he says slowly.
“Then steal her opinion,” I say. “You trust her.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “You’re not wrong.”
“I know,” I say, smug.
He elbows me, weak but affectionate.
“So, can I stay here tonight?” He asks after a minute, voice small.
This fucking man.
“Is that even a question?” I scoff. “You think I’m letting you sleep alone after all that? Hell no. I have a weighted blanket on the bed and a clingy boyfriend to wrangle.”
“I am not clingy,” he protests, then immediately reaches for my hand again.
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Tell that to the death grip you have on me right now.”
Looking down at our joined hands like he forgot they were there.
“I’ll let go when my heart stops racing,” he says.
“Take your time,” I murmur. “I’m good right here.”
