Page 45 of His Gift
"Why?" But before I can answer, his eyes widen in fear. "Because of what I've done when we met?" Conrad drags me back against his chest, holding me tight. "Have I fucked up everything? I'm sorry, Harper. For real. I thought it was a matter of chemistry between us. I knew I wanted to give you the world. That I would never hurt you, or be mean to you. But this… You can't engineer this. It's… Please tell me I didn't fuck everything up. I swear I understand now."
I hug him so tight I'm probably smothering him. "Hey. Calm down. It's fine. And no, you didn't fuck up everything. It just means it will take a little more time for me to be sure. But I'm here. I'm not running away again." Conrad has guided me through so many panic attacks that it feels strange being the one who calms him down. At the same time, it makes him more real. More relatable. And it shows me that I want to take care of him. Iwant to give him these moments. I want to be with him. And I can't leave him alone right now.
"I won't be any help with the moving, but I can give you instructions, and maybe even get rid of some of my stuff. I'll come back to the office in the afternoon."
"I don't want you to get rid of your stuff. You can keep everything and add even more things. We'll find a way to make it work for the both of us. We can make it work." It's a claim, a question, and a plea all in one, and even though my doubts have not vanished magically, I can just agree.
Maybe a tiny part of me feels like we truly have to make it work. And not just because Conrad believes so.
It took Conrad a few minutes to find movers willing to come to my house immediately. He picked the storage boxes from them but made the movers wait outside and asked me to tell him exactly how I wanted things done. As if I knew. Usually, I just throw things inside the boxes and sort them out later. Aware that saying so would mean he'd take over, I came up with the first thing I could think of: to pack by rooms. Kitchen and bathroom were a breeze, and my clothes were sorted easily. Then there were all the items thrown all over the apartment: books, memories, papers, old broken-upelectronics, bags, a few paintings I fell in love with when I first moved to New York and visited Greenwich Village, SoHo, and flea markets.
I tried to tell him we could get rid of a few things, but he refused every time, and now we're back at his apartment with a stack of boxes that mess with the perfect neatness. Conrad keeps throwing uneasy looks at them.
"I was serious, we can throw away a few things. Hell, I still have a pair of headphones that stopped working when I was in high school."
"Listen, I know I sprang this thing on you and… what happened this morning… I mean, you weren't ready to move, so we'll keep everything and you'll decide what you want to get rid of when you feel it's the right moment. It's not on you, Harper. It's on me. I find it difficult to live in the middle of chaos. But it doesn't mean you have to change. I'll adapt. My apartment is bigger. It will help me. Anyway, probably it's time for you to drop by your office, otherwise you'll be late for rehab."
Yeah, no. I'll go tomorrow. We have too many unresolved things hanging over our heads right now.
"I'm too tired. I need to lie down. Can you show me to my room?"
"Our room." Conrad scoops me up, making me shriek and drop the crutches, then marches toward the bedroom, which is as I expected: white, clean, not a thing out of place.
"Here."
He lies down beside me, but before he can hug me, I pull him close and rest his head on my chest. He freezes again, trying to leave, but I grab hishair and force him to stay. "Be a good boy and let me cuddle you for once." In the room's silence, I can almost hear his heart beating extra fast.
thirty-four
Conrad
If I were the kind of man I thought I was, I'd be moving her things back to her apartment and then saying my goodbyes. Or I'd just disappear. But I can't. I won't. I hug her tighter, inhaling her scent, basking in her attentions, anticipating every little move of her fingers in my hair, over my back, my cheek.
I understand now. Everything she told me. I'd still kill her uncle and beat her ex-husband, but everything else… I'd do differently. I thought I could make her see we were made for each other, but you can't do that. No one can. There's no way what I felt in my car, what I'm feeling right now, could originate from anything else than the depths of one's being.
She's not sure what she feels for me. It hurts, more than I can even begin to explain. But I'll keep trying my best. I'll stay by her side. And unless she sends me away for good—in shackles, because I can't see any other way someone could drag me away from her—I will keep trying until my last breath. I want her. I know she's it for me. Deep in my bones. Deep inside me where there's always been just a hurtless void, and now there's an ache that doesn't stop throbbing. I hate that it's probably pity that drives her right now. I should have more self-respect than this. I should not accept something that's given just because she feels sorry for me. But until things change, I'll get what I can. I am a patient man. I would've been patient if we stayed at my house. I'll be patient now. I'll repent for the mistakes I made.
If anything, what happened today has just strengthened my certainty: she is my gift. Born out of a silly dream concocted to make me feel like everyone else and come into being in the form of a woman in a coffee shop. One woman among an endless stream of women and yet she stood up as if she was made of light. But it's not only that. The more I know her, the more I crave her presence, the more I want to understand her, protect her, make her happy. I am that old man kissing his wife as if his life depended on it. I just have to be patient and wait for Harper to feel the same. To trustme, even though I fucked up so much. Even though I took away her choice. Even though I've fucked her when she hadn't given me consent. Fuck.
"Conrad, are you okay?"
"Yes. But I have questions. Are you okay living here? One second we were arguing, and the next I was packing your stuff." Yes. Yes, this is a good place to start.
"With you, I'm not always sure why I make the choices I make. I told you, I'm an irrational mess around you. But yes, I'm okay living here as long as it is a place for both of us. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, but I can't change who I am—"
"I wouldn't change a thing about you, Harper. I didn't intend to make you feel like there's something wrong with you."
I raise my head, and this time she lets me, and she's smiling.
"I heard what you said about being criticized. I won't do it. It's not who I am. Among my many flaws, this is not one of them. But if you still feel like I'm doing it, please tell me. I want you happy. I always wanted you just happy and at my side from the first moment I saw you."
"Are you really coming around?"
Her button nose is scrunched up and her brows raised high, but the smile is still on her lips, crinkling the corners of her stunning blue eyes.
"I'm trying to."
"It means you'll stop being a bossy tyrant?"
