Finally, desperation drove me to make a decision I probably should have made days ago.
Walker lived in one of the four houses in the same small complex as Dion, and when I pulled into his driveway at seven in the morning, I could see him waiting at the door after his security obviously notified him I was at the gate.
"Emily." He didn't seem surprised to see me. "Come in."
His kitchen was neat and masculine, all clean lines and functional furniture. Plain. It looked like a rental not a home. He poured me a cup of coffee without asking, then leaned against the counter, waiting.
"Where is he?" I asked without preamble.
"Recovering," Walker replied, the same non-answer I'd gotten from everyone else.
"That's not good enough anymore." I set down the coffee cup harder than necessary. "It's been six days. He won't answer his phone, wouldn't see me at the hospital before they discharged him. I need to know if he's okay."
Walker studied me for a long moment. "Physically, he's fine. The bullets went clean through, no major damage. He'll have full use of his arm."
"And emotionally?"
"That's more complicated."
I felt tears prick at my eyes. "Is it because of what I said? Because I accused him of treating me like a child? Because I can apologize, I can—"
"Emily." Walker's voice was gentle but firm. "Sit down."
I perched on the edge of one of his kitchen chairs, my hands twisted in my lap.
Walker's gaze was steady, penetrating. "He believes he failed you by not being what you need."
"WhatI need?" I repeated, baffled. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," Walker said carefully, "that Dion thinks he pushed you too far into a dynamic you weren't comfortable with. That his need to protect and care for you drove you away, right into Rice’s trap."
"That's ridiculous!" I stood up, unable to contain my frustration.
"And yet you walked straight into a trap that nearly got you both killed."
The blunt assessment stung, but I couldn't deny its truth. "I made a mistake."
"We all do," Walker agreed, his tone softening slightly. "But Dion takes his responsibilities seriously. When someone he cares about is hurt on his watch, he doesn't forgive himself easily."
"But it wasn't his fault," I insisted. "It was mine. I'm the one who left without telling him."
Walker sighed, running a hand through his short hair. "Emily, do you understand what being with Dion really means? Not just the parts you like—the caretaking, the protection—but all of it?"
I hesitated, caught off guard by the question. "I... I think so."
"No, you don't," he said firmly. "Because if you did, you wouldn't have run from it the moment it became inconvenient."
"That's not fair," I protested, though the words lacked conviction.
"Isn't it?" Walker challenged. "Dion is a Daddy Dom. It's not a role he plays; it's who he is. He needs to protect, to nurture, to guide. And sometimes, yes, to set boundaries."
I sank back into the chair, Walker's words hitting with uncomfortable precision. "I know that."
"Do you? Because when he tried to give you a safe space after a traumatic experience, you accused him of treating you like a child. When he expressed concern for your safety, you called it controlling."
"I was upset," I whispered. "I didn't mean—"
"That's the thing about words, Emily. Once they're out, you can't take them back." Walker's expression was sympathetic but unyielding. "Dion believes you need someone different. Someone who can give you more freedom, more autonomy."
