“You okay?” he asks.
There’s weight in his voice. He doesn’t just mean physically.
“I’m okay,” I say, and I mean it more than I have in a while. There’s even a little laugh in my voice. “What’s going on with you?”
He exhales, like the weight of everything is still sitting on his chest and he doesn’t realize he’s still holding on to it all.
“I just need to explain to you what really happened that night,” he begins. “When I left. Because I think—at least, Ihope—you know, that isn’t who I am. That’s not the kind of partner I want to be for you, and I—”
“Gray,” I interrupt gently. “I was upset. But I know you were hurting. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“But I do,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Sweetheart, Ibrokeyou. I know I did. I saw it in your eyes before I walked out that door. And after what happened—after ending uphere—you deserve to know why.”
I can’t argue with that. Hedidbreak me. Even though I’d reasoned through it all in my head while I was on my way here—before everything went black—I still need to know what possible reason he could have besides the obvious ones. What could’ve caused him to blow up everything we’d built like it never meant anything?
“Lily called me.”
My breath catches in my throat. My brain is still too fuzzy to form a response.
“She got the call when hospice couldn’t reach me or Johanna. I guess she was still listed as an emergency contact somewhere,” he continues. “It wasn’t a long conversation, but it threw me. I didn’t expect it. I definitely didn’t want it, and after finding out about Mom, then having to deal with that… I lost it. I didn’t handle it well. I didn’t handleanyof it well. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So damn sorry.”
He drops his head and rests it on our joined hands as if he’s praying that I’ll accept the apology. I use my free hand to run myfingers through his hair, knowing it always calms him. After a moment, he looks up at me, fighting to hold the tears back.
He keeps one hand on mine and uses the other to reach into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small velvet box.
My heart stutters, and I almost stop breathing.
Oh.
“Grayson…”
He doesn’t open it. Not yet. Just turns it over and over in his hand, like he’s trying to find the exact right words.
“I told the hospital you were my fiancée,” he murmurs. “They were giving me hell about seeing you and it just… happened. But the thing is—I meant it.”
The air gets thicker between us.
“I meant it then. I mean it now. I don’t want anyone to ever be confused about who you are to me. Or how much you mean. Ever again.”
He sets the box gently on the edge of the blanket. He doesn’t push it towards me—it just exists. It’s a question, not a demand.
“I love you, Mia Michele Alexander,” he whispers, his voice like gravity. “I love you in a way I never thought possible. I want to build a life—ourlife—with you. I want the chaos and the calm. The darkness and the light. Marry me, beautiful. Make me the luckiest man alive, and marry me.”
My heart cracks wide open.
Because I love this man more than anything I’ve ever loved before.
But I put my hand over the box to keep him from opening it.
“No, baby,” I say softly.
His face falters.
“Wha—” he stumbles. “No?”
“Not like this.”
He stares at me like I’ve knocked the air out of him. I watch all the hope drain from his face, and it shatters something in me.
