Page 52 of The Breaking Point

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “Yeah. I guess he and Jorje are having some problems too.”

I stare at him as the waiter brings over our drinks and entrees.

“Jeez,” I mutter.

“I know,” he says, making a face.

“Anyway,” he continues, “how’s Quinn? Any news on Markus?”

“Not yet.” I exhale. “They should know something soon.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Aiden says, voice suddenly heavy. Serious.

I laugh, more to break the tension than because anything is funny. “You just miss your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he says, mock-defensive. “He’s mymanfriend.”

That gets a real laugh out of me. It feels good, like we’re just two adults again, not parents, not roommates. Just us. Spearinga bite of the duck à l’orange, I practically moan. “This is really good,”

He smiles. “In case I haven’t said it yet… you look beautiful. Especially when you smile.”

I glance up, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman in the room. Like maybe he’s seeing me for the first time again.

Then he takes a bite of his food and asks, “What about you? What’d you do today?”

I trace the rim of my wine glass with my finger. “I wrote a letter. To my parents. Everything I’ve been holding in. It was weirdly… I don’t know, validating.”

His brow furrows gently. “Are you going to send it?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe. My father… he asked to start over.”

He watches me for a long moment before asking softly, “And what did you say?”

I smile at him. “It’ll make you mad. I was kinda mean.”

Aiden reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. His grip is warm and steady. “I know I haven’t always done a good job of it, but I’m on your side. Always.”

So, I tell him. I tell him what my father said, how it hit me, and how I responded, honest, raw, maybe a little cruel, but real. And Aiden doesn’t flinch. He listens. And when I’m done, he surprises me.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve been so dismissive of your past. I didn’t understand… and I didn’t try hard enough to.”

I study his face, the regret written there. Quiet. Sincere. After a beat, I ask, “Do you want to talk about your dad?”

He hesitates, then looks away, eyes flickering to some distant place. “Soon,” he says. “I’m just… not ready yet.”

His voice is low, almost ashamed. I squeeze his hand gently. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll wait.”

He turns back to me then, and I can see it in his eyes, something unspoken, tender, wounded. And healing. Nodding, he sits up straighter, solemn, and says, “I’m going to try too. To be open. I swear on our boys, I will never lie to you again.”

I study him for a beat. “And you’ll never go to a strip club again either.”

His face shifts into something close to panic, but before he can respond, I laugh. And yes, apparently, I’m laughing now.

Because the truth is, Aidenwasscared. What he did, with that woman, it haunted him. I can see that now. The way he used to look at me, so guarded, so uncertain I thought it meant he was overwhelmed. But maybe it just meant he was afraid I wouldn’t love him anymore.

We were both afraid. Two scared, hurt people who never really learned how to talk without trying to protect the other. But one thing I know for certain, we love each other. Even when we’re bad at showing it.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks after our drinks arrive.

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