Page 106 of Winning the Nightcap

“You fly home later tonight. Is that right?” David asks.

“That’s right,” I confirm.

“And are you still planning to see Bec?”

“I haven’t asked her yet, but I plan on it.”

My stomach is tied into one giant fucking knot thinking about seeing her again, the rush of conflicting emotions is overwhelming. She hasn’t sounded angry with me in our text messages these past few weeks, but how could she not be? I’ve taken forever to get my head on straight and I’m still not certain I’ll be able to talk to her without fucking everything up.

I know I need to do two things: I need to see Bec and I need to see my mom.

I have to make sure Bec knows that I love her. All I can do is hope she forgives me for not saying it sooner and for how I acted when she confessed to loving me first.

Evie has been to visit Mom several times, but I haven’t gone with her. I’ve been too terrified to face the possibility of repeating history. I feel so goddamn selfish. My family needs me and I’ve been too much of a coward to be with them.

But Dom was right. Today is only my second time talking with David, his therapist—and I guess mine now too—and I know he was right to suggest I make an appointment. David has explained that it’ll take some time before we can dig into the root of what I’m struggling with, but he’s helped me talk about what’s going on right now in a way that doesn’t make me want to shut down. He asked me what I want my life to look like and helped me plan what my next few steps will need to be to help make that happen. It’s not a quick fix, but he seems like a nice guy, and I think this could be good for me.

David summarizes everything we talked about today and we schedule another appointment for next week before ending the virtual session. I pack up my shit, head from the hotel to the airport, and run through what I want to say to Bec probably a hundred times on the flight home.

When I get back to my apartment, Hopper is there to greet me, but just like every other time I’ve come home these past few weeks, Bec’s not with him. I want this to be the last time I come home to find that she’s not here too.

I never told her not to be here, but after that first night we decided to spend the night apart, she texted me to tell me she understood that I needed time, that she’d be waiting for me when I was ready to talk, and that I can tell her when I’m ready to have that conversation.

This woman is too fucking perfect to be real.

I’ve wanted to call her and beg her to see me, to sit with me and let me hold her without saying anything. But that’s not fair to her. I owe her an explanation. I need to be able to talk about this shit. She deserves more than I’ve had to give. I’m going to dig deep and try my best and hope that she still loves me despite everything I still need to figure out.

“It’s time we got our girl back,” I say to Hop, who wags his tail in agreement. I crouch low and wrap my arms around my faithfulcompanion, mumbling a soft thank-you into his fur. God, I love this dog. “Wish me luck,” I say with a pet on his head before I head out to hopefully bring Bec home with me for good.

* * *

I heave a heavy breath out in an attempt to calm my racing heart as I stand in front of Bec’s apartment.

I didn’t text her. I was too scared she’d say not to come over.

I need to see her…even if she turns me away.

I give myself another ten seconds before I knock on her door. All the effort I made to temper my nerves is shot when I hear the soft patter of her feet approaching.

I keep my head down, bracing for rejection. I know she’s probably peeking through her door to see who could be knocking this late. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t open the door at all.

After a few more seconds, relief flows through me as she opens the door and my entire body reacts to her nearness.

Bec is always beautiful, but when she’s like this…hair a mess of curls falling out of a knot at the top of her head, her faded, holey T-shirt hanging halfway down her thick thighs, and pajama shorts that just barely meet the same length as her shirt, her perfect legs on display looking so good I want to drape them over my shoulders and down my back…this is exactly what I want to come home to every day for the rest of my life.

“Aiden,” she says quietly.

“Can I come in?” I ask, barely able to make eye contact.

Please say yes.

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move to let me in. One second, she’s frozen, standing in the doorway, holding onto the frame for support, and the next, she’s launching herself into my arms, wrappingher arms tightly around my shoulders, her head tucked into the base of my neck.

I immediately wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly against me.

“You’re here,” she whispers, disbelief in her tone.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry it took me so long.” I don’t trust the shake in my voice as emotions wash over me and fluctuate too quickly for me to name.

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