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Chapter 30
Allyson
His answer shocks me if I’m honest. No, that’s not it.
Bruce is a good man despite the roughness, as he calls it, and I knew he wouldn’t bolt on me. Even though everything I just told him . . . it’s a lot. To process, to carry, to understand, to accept. I don’t have any choice because it’s the reality I lived through. But Bruce could walk away.
I can see that thought never enters his mind, though. The vehemence with which he says that he belongs with Cooper and me makes that crystal clear, like he believes it with his whole being.
My heart soars, my chest filling with a heated happiness. But I have to be careful. For Bruce, for me, and most of all, for Cooper. This isn’t a decision to take lightly for either of us. The minute stretches with pregnant possibilities.
“Are you sure?” I steady my nerves, tapping my thigh with my fingers softly so maybe he won’t notice. “If it’s too much, I’d understand. I swear it.”
All my walls are down, and I don’t know if I can handle losing Bruce again. Before, we were stupid kids, too inexperienced to have a hard conversation, and we lost each other and so many years, so much opportunity. Now, we’re adults, and this conversation is heavy but not as weighed down as my heart is. If I lose him now, I won’t ever be the same. I know that with certainty. This will change me more than any of the stuff with Jeremy ever did.
Losing Bruce would break me.
I love him. I love him so much I exposed my most ugly, vulnerable parts trusting that he wouldn’t look away in disappointment even while expecting him to do just that.
Bruce tilts his head, his dark eyes boring into me. I feel so . . . seen. Not that I’m invisible most of the time. I’m not exactly a shrinking violet anymore, but Bruce sees more of me than anyone ever has. And I just shone a big old spotlight on my damage and invited him to weigh in on it.
He stands up, looming over me, and from my seat on the couch I feel so tiny. Common sense for self-preservation should tell me to run, but whatever inner alarm system I have is blissfully silent. He bends down slowly, reaching for my hand to pull me to my feet too.
There’s more than a foot between us, but I can feel him. A magnetic pull draws us closer to one another, the promise of contact powerful as I stare at his chest. I measure his width, I count the small threads in his T-shirt, anything to avoid his eyes.
“Allyson, I can see that hamster in your mind running so fast he’s about to destroy that wheel. Listen to me.” He cups my jaw firmly, forcing my chin up and my eyes to his.
This is not a lover’s touch but a power move. He’s not letting me hide. In my mind, I’m sitting on the scattered and empty boxes of my demons, small and broken, with my knees cradled to my chest and my face tracked with tears I haven’t cried in years. But here in reality, my hands are at my sides, my eyes hopeful and begging.
“I love you. There isn’t a goddamn thing you could say or do that would change that. I’ve loved you since I was a kid, I loved you even when you were gone from me, and I love you now. I’ll always love you, Al. And when I die, I’ll still love you then, so you’d better get your fine ass in the fucking dirt with me because I lost so many days with you that I don’t want to miss a single one again. Ever. I love you.”
Doubts, like chains, release me. Hope, like wings, lift me. I’m where I was supposed to be all along, with Bruce. There are no walls between us, no questions, no more what-ifs.
I have to believe that the past happened so we could get to where we are right now, as who we are right now. It’s a different path than either of us ever plotted, but it got us to the same place, nevertheless. Together.
I lift up to my toes, keeping my eyes open as I get incrementally closer to him. He bends forward, reading my intention, and we meet in the middle. Our lips touch softly, gently writing promises to each other with every caress.
Bruce releases my jaw, his hands tracing heat down my sides before wrapping around my back. I squeeze at his biceps, digging my nails in to make sure he’s real and not some figment my imagination has drummed up. But he’s remarkably solid and hard under my hands and groans into my mouth at the sharp bite of my trimmed nails. “Fuck, Allyson.”
