A deeper kind of fear seeps in—not fear of his anger, but fear that I’ve fractured something inside him too badly to fix.
I can’t do this.
He can’t be with me? He can’t have a relationship anymore because I broke his trust?
The sorrow is nearly crushing as I push off the couch slowly, wincing at the pull in my arm, ready to retreat somewhere—anywhere—to lick my wounds, but then he speaks from behind me.
“I want three kids.”
I slowly turn to see Penn leaning casually against the doorframe like he didn’t just eviscerate me five minutes ago.
I’m so discombobulated. “Wh-what?”
His face is calm, with no trace of anger. None of the disdain or accusation. “Three kids. Maybe four. I’ve been thinking about it. How many do you want?”
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. Has he? Did I push him over the edge?
“How many?” he repeats calmly.
“I… I don’t know,” I stammer. “Three sounds good.”
“Perfect.” He pushes off the frame, walking toward me like we’re discussing weekend plans.
“What’s happening right now?” I blurt out.
“I’m mad at you,” he says simply. “I probably will be again when I think about it too long.”
“But you want to talk about kids?” I drawl in confusion.
He comes toe to toe with me and I have to tilt my head to look up at him. “I feel like we have important things to talk about.”
I’m reeling at how calm he is. At how he just abandoned his furious rant to talk about… children? “But you’re pissed at me. I broke trust. You said you can’t do this.”
“Yeah… I can’t continue to berate you. I’m out of gas, anyway. So, we need to talk about some important things.”
Penn motions for me to sit back down on the couch, and I sink into it, my heart racing and mind spinning.
“Let’s talk about our future,” he says.
I stare at him like he’s gone crazy. But he seems serious. There’s something raw in his eyes not—not anger, not even hurt exactly—but something that looks a hell of a lot like determination fighting through pain.
“I want you to stay here. With me. For good. I know Florida has been your home for a long time, but I want us to move in together and start a life.”
“Penn,” I say as I rub at my temple, which is now hurting more than my arm. “What the hell is going on? You said I broke your trust. Don’t you think that’s something more important to talk about?”
Penn’s mouth tightens. For a heartbeat, he looks like he might shut down again—old instincts flickering behind his eyes. The ones that learned a long time ago that betrayal meant isolation, not forgiveness.
“No, not really.” He takes a seat beside me. “I got my anger out, and yes, while you went behind my back, you have to know I’m not stupid. I can look at the end result and admit it all worked out. Yeah, you got a bullet hole in your arm—”
“It was just a scratch,” I say.
“That needed stitches,” he chastises, “but I’m also accepting the overwhelming relief this is over, and it’s dulling the anger a bit. Do I wish you had been honest and just told me that you were going to do it no matter what I said? Yes. Do I also understand why you didn’t? Yes, I understand that too. I was being heavy-handed, demanding you do what I say without any thought to your feelings, and I’m adult enough to admit that was wrong. In the future, Mila… if you disagree with me, fine. I’d just ask you not go behind my back.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “Okay. I promise I won’t.”
Penn offers me a brilliant smile and I can truly feel he’s let go of the anger. “Anyway, we’ll figure out what to do with your house there. Whatever you want. But I want you here. In this house. And when the time’s right, maybe we’ll find a place that’s ours—not just mine.”
Emotion clogs my throat, tears threatening to flood.
