Page 143 of Lace 'em Up

Then getting it.

Fighting for us…

It’s also fighting for me.

“What?” He’s focused back on me.

“I was going to say it was okay,” I say. “But it’s not.” I clear the knot from my throat, force myself to keep talking even though it feels very scary to continue. “It’s not okay for you to leave me when everyone else important in my life has left me in one way or another?—”

Pain ripples across his face.

But I owe this truth to him.

To myself.

He came back because he realized he fucked up.

I would be fucking up if I didn’t draw this boundary.

“You left.” I take a breath. “I asked you to stay and you left and that’s not okay. If we really love each other, we have to find a way to talk the hard stuff through. I know this is an extreme situation, but?—”

More pain, and I feel like a total jerk.

Today was bad, was triggering in so many ways for both him and I.

But…I have to keep going.

I cover his cheek with my palm, the bristles of his beard tickling my skin. “You can ask for space and take it. You can be upset that my monster of an ex did what he did. You can carry the pain of your past without me expecting you to magically be healed, but I cannot tolerate you walking out.” My voice cracks.

Be brave and kind.

I push on. “Phillip can hurt me. My stepsisters can be their bitchy selves. My stepmom can hit me, lock me up, can use me for free labor all over again. Hell, I can lose a thousand belongings to the teeth of a naughty fluffy puppy.” I drop my forehead to his. “But I cannot stand to watch you walk away from me, knowing we’re both hurt and torn to pieces inside.”

“Dammit,” he mutters, eyes sliding closed. “I’m an asshole.”

“I think we’ve already established that you’re my asshole.”

“I believe it was dumbass.” His mouth quirks as I giggle. Then his expression flattens out and he strokes a finger down my cheek. “I won’t walk out. Not when you ask me to stay. Not ever again.”

I hear the truth in his voice and relax. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” I bury my face in his throat, hold him as tight as I’m able to with my ribs. “I’m sorry you had to come home to that.”

He slides a hand into my hair, lifts my head. “Don’t fucking apologize for what that man did.”

“I’m not,” I tell him honestly, holding his gaze when his eyes spark with fury. “But I’m okay because you’re here and I fought for us, for me. I’m okay because I’m safe. Because I can make plans for the future and know they’re not going to disappear.”

Gentle. His expression becomes so freaking gentle that it takes my breath away. “I love you,” he whispers. “I know I’ll fuck up, and probably do it far too often. I’m not my father who can navigate this stuff easily. My head is all twisted and I’m not perfect, but—” Determination fills his face. “I love you and I’m not letting you go.” A beat. “Not ever.”

God, I love this man.

Love that he can admit all that.

And still say that.

“All of that sounds perfect to me.”

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