I can’t take the guilt of listening anymore. Trying to still my heart, I push the door open. It creaks and their heads turn to me slowly. I ask quietly, “Did you all mean that? What you were saying?”
32
RIAN
I look down at her.She’s sitting on the floor to my left, in the dark of the closet, knees tucked to her chest like she’s trying to fold into herself. Her cheeks are puffy, hazel eyes rimmed red, her blonde hair tousled angelically, strands stuck to the sweat at her temples. She must have cried herself to sleep in there. I thought she was running. I assumed she was hiding from us, from the truth. But she wasn’t afraid. She was just…comfortable.
That undoes something in me. It softens a layer I didn’t even know was still intact.
She looks beautiful this way. Not the kind of beautiful you fuck. The kind that makes your throat ache. She looks small and vulnerable, like she could be broken with a harsh word, but I know better now. I’ve seen what she holds inside her. What she’s survived. What she’s become.
I’m used to seeing vulnerability as something to crush. I was raised in a world where tenderness was either exploited or erased. Becoming aware of it outside of destruction is slowly, painfully, changing me in ways I didn’t think possible.
And she’s been listening.To all of it.She heard the whole damn conversation—our fumbling attempts to talk about love and fatherhood and futures we don’t know how to build. There’s no pretending now. No way to reel it back in.
For a second, I want to lie. It’s just a reflex. I want to pretend I didn’t mean it. That I only want to own her. That I want the boys but not the strings. That I want her physically but not emotionally. That it’s easier that way. Cleaner. I don’t want to hand her the chance to reject something Ialreadyhanded her, heart and all.
But that’s what I would’ve done before. That’s not who I am anymore.
I’m done manipulating. Done hiding from the things I want.
“Aye,” I say quietly. “I meant it.”
Kellan says nothing. Declan shifts on the bed like he might speak, but the words never come. It’s just me out here, raw and exposed, holding the weight of the words all of us said. I started it—I opened that door—and I have to carry it.
“I don’t care who the father is,” I say, voice steady but low. “Is tú atá uaim.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“I want you.”
“Oh,” she whispers, looking down at her fingers.
“And I want them. I don’t want to keep imagining it anymore. I want to have it.All of it.”
She blinks, hesitant. “Have what?”
“Parenthood. Being a father. A partner. A family.”
She looks down at her hands. “We could…coparent.”
“Coparent,” I scoff, sinking to the ground in front of her. I gather her hands in mine. They’re so small, still trembling slightly. I used to see that smallness as a weakness. Something I could bend or use. Now I know better. That small frame holds oceans of rage, courage, grief, and love. And I want every part of it.
“Caroline,” I say, looking her in the eyes, “look at where we are. Look at what we’ve survived. Look atyou. We can do more than coparent. Maybe I’m not saying it right, but it’s not just the kids I want. It’s thelife.It’syou.I don’t want to split holidays or share updates. I want mornings. Nights. The messy parts. The boring parts. The hard parts. I want to hold your hand through all of it.”
She hesitates, voice low. “Forgive? Not much has changed.”
“We have,” I say. “Maybe not enough. Maybe not fast enough. But we have. And we’re trying.”
She looks up at the ceiling like she’s searching for strength she hasn’t decided to believe in yet. Her tears threaten to spill, shining in the light from the hallway.
I reach out and catch one with my thumb, letting my hand rest against her jaw. I lean forward and brush her cheek with my lips, gentle as breath. “I know how this started. I know it was twisted. Violent. Maybe unforgivable. And maybe I’ve got no right to ask, but I’m asking anyway because what we’ve built since…thatis real. From the moment I met you, both times, I felt something human stir in me for the first time in years.”
“Youarehuman,” she whispers.
“I didn’t feel like it,” I murmur. “Not until you. And maybe that’s selfish, but it’s the truth. You woke something up in us, Caroline. And you’ll have to get used to that if you want this. We haven’t had a normal life.” I smile slightly, brushing a hand through her hair and adding, “We haven’t had an insurance adjustor’s life.”
She laughs softly—wet, breathless, beautiful—and a tear rolls down her cheek. I follow its path with my eyes, and I keep talking before I lose the nerve.
