Page 186 of Inevitable Endings
“No,” he says. “A life. One that doesn’t depend on fear orcontrol. One I can walk away from without it collapsing. Maybe that’s a house. Or a person. Or…” He glances at me. “A family.”
The breath leaves me slow.
I nod, fingers curling around his.
He doesn’t flinch from the word like I thought he might.
And so I offer mine.
“I want to believe someone can love all of me,” he says, “and stay.”
His thumb brushes against the inside of my wrist.
“I already do,” I murmur.
His eyes search mine for a long moment. Like he’s not sure how someone like him—born in violence, buried in legacy—ended up here, on a couch lit by candlelight, being loved without being feared.
His voice comes quieter now, a rasp against the soft hush of the room.
“I have my last wish already then,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
He doesn’t look away when he says it. Doesn’t hide or soften the truth.
“Someone who loves me. A home. You.”
It doesn’t hit me like a dramatic declaration. It doesn’t need to.
It lands deeper than that.
Like it roots itself in the spaces of me I’ve tried to close off. The parts that still brace for abandonment. For silence. For someone walking out the door without meaning to come back.
But he’s here.
And he’s giving me this, not with fireworks, but with quiet, steady devotion.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the center of my palm. His lips are warm, a little rough, but careful. Like he’s kissing something he doesn’t think he deserves to keep.
Then he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes again.
“What about you?” he asks. “What’s something you have to do before you die?”
I look at him.
And for once, I don’t think. I just answer.
“Let someone love me without trying to earn it.”
He nods, slowly.
“You don’t have to earn me,” he says. “You already have me.”
I look at him, his face lit by candlelight, worn and scarred and unshakably beautiful.
For the rest of the night, we ask more questions.
What’s your worst fear?
