Page 91 of Perfectly Wedded

She tilts her head, studying me. “Then why didn’t you tell me about the contract and insurance?”

I sigh. This is where it gets harder. “I should’ve told you about the insurance, but part of me hesitated, wondering if that was gone, would you still want me?” I glance away, shame twisting in my chest. “I know it’s stupid. But it made me feel like I’m not good enough to give you what you need—and that one’s on me—for not trusting you enough. For not believing you loved me for more than what I can offer you.”

She stares at me. “You believed I loved you for what you could give me?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I’m not proud that I doubted you. I thought if I could sort out the insurance before you found out, then I could make it all right. So I called your doctor to push for an appeal, but I haven’t heard back. Then I reached out to another place the insurance company mentioned that helps cover new drugs. But so far, I’ve got nothing—and that’s what’s eating at me. I didn’t want you to stress over this on your wedding day.”

Her face softens. “You didn’t have to do all this alone.”

“I know,” I admit, dropping my gaze. This has been my MO ever since Dad left Mom. I fix things. I takecare of people. I’m not the guy who asks for help—I’m the one who’s supposed to give it. When I can’t, then I’m a failure.

She places her hand on my chest, like she knows I need her touch more than anything right now. “Vale, you didn’t fail me.”

“Then why does it feel that way?” I confess.

“Because you’re human,” she says. “Feeling like a failure doesn’t mean you are one, Vale. You’ve done everything you can, and that’s all I’ve ever needed from you. But giving up the NHL deal without talking to me first? How could you?” She looks more devastated by this news than I expected.

I touch her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. “Because I wanted you more than the NHL. I wanted to make a life with you, to show you I was willing to give up the one thing that meant the most to me.”

“Vale,” she says, placing both hands on my chest. “You never had to prove your love to me. I already knew what you’d give up for me. You married me in Vegas. You refused to sleep in our bed until I asked. You kissed me to make Anthony jealous.”

“Actually, that was just the excuse. I kissed you because I was dying to.”

A smile curves her lips.

I place my hands over hers across my chest. “I just hoped you could forgive me for not telling you first, but that’s the risk I was willing to take.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asks.

“Because I knew if I did, that you’d believe the lies your past has taught you, instead of the truth right in front of you.” I need her to understand that her past doesn’t define her. In my family’s case, I’ll never get a chance to ask my father why he chose to leave our family. But I won’t repeat the mistake he made. That’s the difference between me and Sloan—how we’ve chosen to carry the same wound in different ways.

“If I left, it would make your life immensely easier,” she says, like she’s already convinced herself it’s the only option.

My hands move to her waist, pulling her closer. “No,” I say, resolute. “If you left, it would destroy me.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then slowly shakes her head, like she’s trying to figure out why I’m even bothering to fight for this. “Why do you make me feel like you would be worse off without me, when we both know I’m the one holding you back?”

My thumb gently strokes her hip, a silent reminder thatI’m here, I’m not leaving. “When my father left our family, Mom soldiered on, but I could see the hole my dad left, and I decided I’d never cause that same pain for someone. We might share DNA with our families, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make different choices, that we can’t be better people. We don’t have to accept that we’re destined to become what people believe about us. You’renotsomeone who runs when things get hard. What you’ve shown is that you’ve already made a different choice. You stay when things get hard. You stick it out, even if it costs you something. You’re so present with the people you love, coming through for them even when they don’t deserve it. That’s what I love about you. Until you came along, I hadn’t told any woman I loved her. You were the first. And as my wife, thelast.”

Her mouth opens, like she wants to say something, but can’t.

The agent at the ticket counter clears her throat. “You’re next, ma’am.”

Sloan doesn’t move. Just looks at me, torn.

“Please don’t go,” I say, my voice ragged. “This is not who you are. It never was.”

Her gaze flicks to the ticket counter, the departure sign for Vegas, and then to me.

“Do you need a ticket?” the woman asks again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, holding my gaze. For a split second, my stomach bottoms out. She’s apologizing to me, choosing to leave, to give up everything we’ve worked so hard for.

Then she squeezes my hand once, before dropping it. The feelof her ring, imprinted on my thumb, still pulses from the pressure.

She turns toward the ticket counter, and everything in me wants to push myself in front of her, to stop her from leaving.

And then I remember Mom standing in the doorway after Dad left. It cost her so much to hold love open-fisted, to let love go, but she couldn’t stop him any more than she could stop the wind.

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