“I was on my way to the practice rink—” I begin.
“I just came from the rink—” she starts at the same time. We both stop, pausing and taking a moment to break the awkwardness with a laugh.
“You go,” I say, sweeping my hand out.
“Emma told me you were here,” she says, her eyes finding mine. “She may or may not have indicated that I should come see you.”
I drop my gaze for a second, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sounds like her.”
I smile despite myself, but it fades almost as quickly as it comes. Here’s Vivian, standing in front of me after a week where I disappeared into my own head, and suddenly every excuse I come up with feels thin and stupid.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
Her expression softens immediately, which somehow makes it worse. “Ty?—”
“No, let me say it.” I shift closer, lowering my voice. “I handled this badly.”
She doesn’t interrupt me this time. Just waits. And the fact that she waits—patient and open and willing to listen—nearly undoes me all over again.
“I think...” I exhale slowly, the words scraping their way out. “I know I got overwhelmed. It built up. There was a lot happening, and converging at once, and then...you. You came into my life at the exact same time.”
Her eyes flicker slightly.
“And instead of it feeling bad,” I continue, “it felt too important.”
The confession hangs between us. I laugh once under my breath, but there’s no humor in it.
“You see me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has before, Vivian. And I’m not saying nobody’s been there for me because they have. My teammates. Emma. People in my life have shown up for me plenty.” My throat tightens. “But you listen to me differently. You pay attention differently. You make me feel…” I search for the word and fail anyway. “Known, I guess.”
Her whole expression melts, and my chest pulls tight with it.
“And honestly?” I admit. “That scared me.”
I glance toward the street briefly before looking back at her.
“I think part of me started worrying I was going to become this weight you’d have to carry while I sorted myself out. Like I’d drag you into all of this mess in my head before I even understood it myself.”
“Ty.”
“And this week...” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Yeah. It got dark for a minute. I was in my own head too much. But none of that was because of us.” My voice turns firmer there because I need her to hear it. “That part was me. I didn’t know how to bring you into it.”
For a moment she looks at me. Then she steps closer.
“So we talk about it,” she says simply, her mouth curving. “That’s all.”
She’s so close I can smell her perfume. She smells like coconut and citrus and the kind of warmth my body recognizes before my brain catches up. “That’s all?”
“If this”—she motions between us—“becomes something real, there are going to be moments where one of us is struggling and the other one has to step in.”
She laughs under her breath, shaking her head at herself.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there are probably going to be times where I have to ask for help.”
I bark out a surprised laugh at that. My Vivian. Warmth, honesty, and courage wrapped up in one beautiful woman standing with me, outside my building, pouring it all out on this gorgeous sunny day.
“But that’s what I want,” I tell her immediately. “I want to help you. If I tell you I’m here, I mean it. I want to be the man who shows up for you.”
Something emotional flickers across her face. Then she closes the distance between us completely and slides her arms around my waist.
