“A nurse slipped me some information about a women’s shelter,” she continues. “I left while he was at the gym. Took what I could carry and just left without telling him where I was going. I lived in that shelter for a few months before I found my apartment in the city. I hadn’t seen Micah for…” She shrugs. “Nine years. Until today.”
My heart stops beating for a second as she stands there, so small in my workshop, the weight of her past pressing down on her shoulders. Nine years of carrying this alone. Nine years of running from someone who turned love into a weapon. And now he’s back, working with my team, wanting to get close to her again.
“That’s why you froze in the hallway,” I say, my voice tight with anger I’m trying desperately to control.
“When I saw him today,” she continues, her voice stronger now, like she’s found her footing, “it was like no time had passed at all. Like I was that scared nineteen-year-old girl again, powerless and small.” She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “He said things… about you. About us.”
Fucking prick.
My jaw clenches. “What did he say?”
Sutton wipes at her tears with the sleeve of my hoodie. “The same things he used to say. That I’m worthless. That I’m onlygood for…” She stops, shaking her head. “That you’re just like him. That I’m just…” She swallows hard. “Just a body to you. Something to use and discard.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath more effectively than any tackle. The thought that she might believe that, even for a moment, tears something open inside me.
“Sutton,” I say softly, unable to keep the pain from my voice. “Please tell me you don’t believe him.” I hate how vulnerable the question sounds. How desperate I am to know she sees me differently.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, more tears flowing, and the raw honesty cuts me deep. “I don’t want to believe him.”
“But…” I say, knowing there’s more there. I can feel it coming.
“But part of me…” She looks away, her shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for impact. “Part of me is scared that he’s right. That this,” she gestures between us, “isn’t real. That I’m just convenient because I’m here.”
The words are crushing to my soul, but I refuse to let that son of a bitch control her mind any longer. I push away from the workbench, ignoring the sharp protest from my ribs. I need her to look at me, to really see me.
“Sutton,” I say, my voice low and steady despite the tempest raging inside me. “Look at me. Please.”
She lifts her head slowly, her eyes meeting mine with such vulnerability it steals my breath.
“Nothing about you has ever been convenient,” I tell her, stepping closer but still giving her space. “From the moment you walked away from me at the bar, you’ve been the most challenging, frustrating, beautiful puzzle I’ve ever tried to solve. You make me work for every smile, every laugh, every moment of trust. And I love that about you.”
Her eyes widen slightly, tears still clinging to her lashes.
“If I wanted convenient, I wouldn’t be standing here with bruised ribs and a heart so tangled up in you I can barely breathe sometimes.” I take another step closer, needing her to understand. “I’ve spent my whole life being the guy who fixes things, who makes things better, who never needs anything from anyone. But with you? I’m completely undone. Sutton Price, nothing about the way I feel about you is casual or convenient.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t back away. I take that as permission to continue.
“When I saw you with him today—when I saw the look on your face—I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands. Not because I think you’re mine to protect, but because the thought of anyone hurting you makes me physically sick.”
I run a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words.
How do I make her understand what she means to me?
How do I fight against the poison that bastard had been feeding her for years? The thoughts and beliefs she’s continued to let poison her psyche ever since.
“I love you, Sutton. Somewhere in these past few weeks I’ve fallen in love with you. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before,” I admit, my voice rough with emotion. “And that terrifies me because I know how easily you could walk away. How many reasons you have not to trust me or any man. But I’m not him, Sutton. And I swear to God, I will never be him.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for something, truth, maybe, or reassurance. I don’t know, but I hold her gaze, letting her see everything I’m feeling, hiding nothing.
“I’m scared,” she whispers, and the raw vulnerability in her voice makes my heart ache.
“Of what?” I ask gently, taking another small step closer. Close enough to touch her, but I don’t. Not yet.
“Of believing you. Of trusting this.” She gestures between us. “Of letting myself hope and then having it all torn away again.”
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms. “I understand that,” I tell her. “I do. And I can’t promise we’ll never hurt each other, because people do that sometimes even when they don’t mean to. But I can promise you this,” I hold her gaze, needing her to feel the truth in my words, “I will never intentionally cause you pain. I will never use your body or your heart as a weapon against you. And I will spend every day trying to be worthy of whatever trust you can give me.”
She’s trembling now, tears falling freely down her cheeks. I want so badly to wipe them away, but I don’t move. This has to be her choice. All of it.
