Page 40 of Escorting the Bodyguard
“You turned hiding out in a sterile safehouse into the best month I can remember.”
Her expression softens, and warmth spreads through me.
“You came to bed without makeup and let me see the real you. How brave you were to open up like that.” I meet her eyes. “It made me want to do the same.
“In therapy, I realized I was so afraid of failing you that I guaranteed it by leaving. I knew I wasn’t healed enough to talk to you yet, but I wanted you to have what you needed. That’s why I sent the fabric. I couldn’t give you me, but I could give you that.”
She nods slowly. “The fabric was beautiful. But it couldn’t replace you.”
For a beat, all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears.
Okay, Ford. Time to jump.
“I want us to try again,” I say finally. “Not just as parents, but as a couple. I know it’s going to take time to build trust, and I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. But if you’re open to it, I’d like to try.”
I’ve spent two years letting one moment in Kandahar define me. I don’t want that to be the only story anymore. I want us to write something new.
She doesn’t move any closer. Instead, she stays where she is, one hand drifting to her belly.
“How do I know you won’t panic and run the first time things get hard?” Her voice is quiet but steady. “What happens when the baby comes and you feel overwhelmed? When I’m sleep-deprived and emotional and not the polished version of myself you fell for?”
The questions hurt, but they’re justified. I gave her every reason to doubt me.
“What happens when parenthood gets messy and complicated and your trauma gets triggered again?”
I take a step toward her, needing to close some of the distance between us. “Then I’ll talk to you instead of shutting down. I’ll call my therapist, go to group, whatever it takes. But I won’t run, Gemma.”
She searches my face, and I can see her weighing my words against the memory of me walking away. We’re eye to eye now,and there’s gold threaded through her green. If I reached out, I could touch her face. “That’s easy to say now,” she says.
“You’re right. It is.” I take another careful step closer, feeling the pull between us like gravity. “So let me be specific. I’m stepping back from active protection details to focus on running the business. No more situations where you’d have to worry about me not coming home. I’ll keep going to therapy twice a week for as long as it takes. And if you’re willing, I want to come to your next doctor’s appointment. I want to be there for everything I missed.”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t fully relax.
“I know I have to earn your trust back,” I continue. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right now. I’m asking for a chance to prove I’ve changed. To prove I can be the partner you and our baby deserve.”
She turns away from me, walking to the window where the golden evening light catches her hair. I can see her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.
“I’m scared, Ford.” The admission comes out barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life than I was that day in Brooklyn.”
The pain in her voice nearly breaks me. “I know.”
“If I let you back in and you leave again...” She touches her belly, and I understand. It’s not just her heart at risk anymore.
“I won’t leave again,” I say, meaning every word. “I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes, but I can promise I’ll stay and work through them.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, staring out at the street. When she finally turns back to me, there’s something different in her expression. Still guarded, but with a crack of hope showing through.
“If we do this,” she says slowly, “I need complete honesty. No shutting down, no protecting me from your feelings. If you’re struggling, you tell me.”
“I will.”
“And therapy isn’t optional. For however long it takes.”
“Already committed to that.”
She takes a step back toward me, then another. “And you’ll come to the anatomy scan next week?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
