Page 84 of When Hearts Ignite

My eyes mist at his reference to my teasing before when I said we were a team in half-jest. But now, it feels true from the bottom of my heart.

This man, he’s on my side. I don’t know why I ever believed otherwise.

Steven leans toward me, tenderness in his eyes, his fingers swiping away a wet clump of hair sticking to my face. “Now, can you tell me what happened nine months ago?”

My pulse kicks into an erratic rhythm as my chest hiccups and the beginnings of unease gather at the base of my spine. I look at him, all traces of the hard billionaire vanished. I only find warmth, concern, and something deeper, much more intense, in those tiger stone eyes.

I don’t want to rely on anyone, least of all a man. My impulse, developed from a lifetime of disappointments, is to don on the armor I’ve spent years crafting and perfecting, break into a smile and change the subject. But now, the tugging of my heart as I stare at the only man who has broken down my barriers, who is living with his own demons but still brave enough to be vulnerable in front of me, I find myself wanting to let go of the flimsy strings holding my problems and my fears together.

I want to lay everything at his feet, all the dull shards and shiny fragments, have him pick me up and carry me to the other side and let him take care of the mess I left behind.

My lungs constrict as my pulse ratches up. The words are perched on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t find my voice. I swallow and inhale deeply, his scent of the ocean and leather giving me strength—

“Do you know…” he begins, his voice deep and husky, his fingers tracing circles on my forearms, sending shivers down my body. “Male falcons can be very possessive and aggressive and they protect their females with their lives?”

My breath lodges in my throat as the pounding pulse inside my ears eclipses the simmering of fear in my veins.

“And what does this have anything to do with our conversation?” I whisper, the butterflies swarming in my chest as I take in the soft, but mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“A wise person once told me the best way to get out of a funk is to read interesting factoids about the world. Then we’d realize how miniscule our problems were. This person suddenly disappeared from my life and my soul felt bereft. So, when I laid awake at night, I’d search for interesting facts to keep me company. To remind me of her.” His words are soft, but his eyes darken in intensity and he slowly leans toward me and presses a gentle kiss on my forehead.

My eyes prickle and burn as tears threaten to be unleashed. I roll my lips together in a desperate urge not to cry. I’m so tired and have been so exhausted trying to shoulder the burdens of my family for a long time, and seeing this strong man in front of me, treating me like I’m the most important person in his life, I just want to curl myself in his arms and never let go.

Steven’s nostrils flare as he sees my expression, and as if he can read my mind, he tugs me close and pulls me against him, wrapping me in the warmth and safety of his embrace.

His voice is deep and melodic, and I feel the rumbling in his chest. “Peregrine falcons mate for life and ancient Egyptian deities had falcons as their sacred animals. Supposedly, their eyes symbolize the sun and the moon and they protect the world below with their mighty wings. They’re special animals.”

I tremble, the tears sliding down my cheeks and dripping onto his chest. The warmth flooding my chest ensnares me and terrifies me at the same time. I want to spill every ounce of worry from my soul, to sleep and rest in his arms, knowing he’ll be there to handle everything coming our way.

I could get used to this warmth. I could get addicted. What will happen to me if I lose this later, like Mom did?

He shushes me and whispers against my hair, “Let it out, my darling. You don’t need to do everything alone anymore. I’m here, Grace. We’re a team. For the first time in my life, I care about someone more than myself. You’ve given me that gift. Please let me share your burdens.”

Lifting my head, my vision blurry, I attempt to give him a wobbly smile. For now, I’d relish the feeling of his embrace.

I’d be brave.

“Nine months ago, when I lost the internship, I had to find another way of getting money to pay off a loan from a loan shark who threatened to hurt Mom,” I begin, my voice sounding thick to my ears.

Steven’s muscles tense, his brows pinched with regret as he listens to me tell him about my burdens all these years—the eviction, Taylor’s tuition at Petit Jeté and ABTC, the loan payment, my choice to dance at Trésor for two years, my search for my birth father, Mom’s tragic passing, and how no day goes by without me missing her.

The words pour out of me, like the dam has been broken, and I sob into his chest and tell him everything as he grips me tighter against him, wrapping his muscular arms around my back as if to protect me from my memories and worries.

My voice is hoarse as I tell him about the men who have rotated in and out of our lives and how I’ve been afraid of my feelings for him because experiences of abandonment by the men in my life.

“Perhaps, I’m a cliché, a little girl always missing her father. When I was younger, I used to dream he’d walk through the doors one day, kneel to the ground with his arms stretched wide, and we’d run excitedly to him for a hug. He’d smell like warmth and safety and tell us how he missed us and couldn’t live without us.”

And so, when we were kids, growing up in the questionable neighborhood of the South Bronx, I remember feeling the sharp edges of jealousy whenever I saw my classmates’ dads picking them up from school. Even though we were all equally poor and wearing similar threadbare pants and scuffed shoes a size or two too big—since you’d get more wears out of them—my friends looked so happy sitting atop of their dads’ shoulders.

It was the first time I learned how poisonous jealousy was. How it seeps inside the depths of your soul, sinking into every nook and cranny, coloring your vision of the world in a shade of ugly, despicable green, and not the vibrant hues of spring, but the vomit-inducing sludge of trodden weeds caked with mud after a rainy day.

“I’d be so jealous of my friends and classmates with doting dads. The only time this jealousy abated was the several years we had with Uncle Bobby when Taylor and I were little. He was Mom’s only boyfriend who treated us well, like we were his own.”

I smile at the memories. He’d pick us up from school and take us to Coney Island on the weekends so we could go on the big Ferris wheel and buy us hot dogs with all the toppings from the stands while we waited for Mom to get off from work at her dance club.

Whenever he visited, he’d bring us the watermelon gummies I loved and the cocoa crisps with real chocolate chips for Taylor. He’d read stories to us of princes and princesses, of faraway lands and magic. I still remembered his bodily warmth, his reassuring scent of leather and old books. For the longest time, I secretly hoped he was our father, and he would stay forever. But Mom would always shake her head when we asked.

But one day, he too disappeared, and I never wanted a father anymore.

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