My chest clenched so hard it hurt. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. A part of me reached for his words like they were a lifeline, but another part pulled back, afraid of being pulled under again.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his head bowing like the weight of it was crushing him. "I'm sorry if I added to the weight you already carry. I know what you told me about your ex, how deep those scars run. I swear, I never cheated, not once, but that doesn't erase it. I still hurt you. I still made you doubt yourself, and that's something I'll always regret."
His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, like he wanted to touch me but knew he didn't have the right.
"My words may not mean much," he continued, his voice unsteady, "but they're all I have. December... I love you. I love you with every broken fiber in me, with every scar, with every fault I've tried to bury. I love you with the mistakes I can't erase and the dreams I still cling to. I love you in ways I never said, in ways I failed to show when it mattered most. And I know—God, I know—I lost the right to those words. But they're still true. They'll always be true."
His breath hitched, and he looked down, as though ashamed to let me see the tears streaking his face. "I don't expect forgiveness. I don't even expect you to believe me. But I hope, someday, you might let me prove it. That I can earn back your trust, your love. Even if it's just a sliver. Even if it's just enough to know I didn't destroy everything."
He exhaled, trembling, "I'm finally waking up from the fog I lived in. Every day I realize how wrong I was. Every day I feel more remorse than I thought possible. I can't change the past. But if you let me, I will change the future."
The silence stretched, thick and fragile. He swallowed hard, then forced himself to keep going.
" I'm staying here, in the city.. Billy offered me work, said he'd take me on, but we agreed to wait because this isn't about me, or him. It's about you. What you want. What you need. That comes first. Always."
His hands trembled at his sides, then reached halfway toward me, hovering in the air like a man begging for touch but afraid of rejection. His eyes locked on mine, raw, unguarded, desperate.
"I love you, December. I love you with every ounce of me that's still standing, every piece that survived. I'll say it until my throat gives out, until you believe it or until you tell me never to speak it again. I'll accept whatever you decide. But I won't stop trying to make right what I shattered."
His grip tightened around mine, desperate but gentle, like I was something holy he wasn't sure he had the right to touch. His words cracked into a vow, splintering against the silence. Between us stretched everything unspoken, betrayal and longing, ruin and hope, all tangled together, still alive despite everything.
Slowly, he lifted my hands to his lips, pressing a kiss into my skin as though he was sealing a prayer there. Then, before I could breathe, before I could speak, he turned and walked away.
I stood frozen on the porch, the echo of his touch still burning in my palms. My heart pounded so violently it rattled my ribs, so loud I thought it might break the night open. I didn't know if I wanted to run after him or collapse where I stood.
All I knew was that nothing inside me was still.
Chapter 21: Flutter and Guard
"So... what do you think, Dec?"
Margot's question was simple enough. Was I okay with Ryder working for Billy? The answer was anything but simple.
"Okay" wasn't the right word. Having him here felt... bittersweet. He's an adult. He can work wherever he wants. I can't stop him and I wouldn't, even if I could.
But seeing him every day? That hardly feels like moving on. I couldn't get over him in a year when he was miles away, what chance do I have now, with him just down the road, close enough that his presence lingers in the air I breathe? So I tell myself the only safe way forward is friendship. Just friends. Nothing more.
In the end, I told Billy to let him. Ryder came that night to learn the basics of the jewellery workshop, his voice carrying faintly down the hall. I stayed in my room, book open but unread, staring at the same paragraph until the words blurred together.
The next morning, the sound of a blender woke me.
A blender.
At seven-thirty.
I stumbled downstairs, muttering under my breath and froze on the last step. Ryder was at the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair a beautiful, messy chaos. The morning light caught on the curve of his jaw, and for a moment it felt like my chest forgot how to work.
Margot was perched on the counter, giggling like they'd been at this for hours already. She pointed at the glass in front of him, laughing so hard she nearly toppled off the counter.
"You cannot be serious. That looks like roadkill."
Ryder's mouth quirked into a grin. "That's because you lack imagination."
"That's because it's blue and lumpy," Margot shot back. "What even is it?"
He sipped whatever it was with an exaggerated flourish. "A culinary innovation."
Their banter felt so easy. He spotted me then. His whole face lit up like sunrise. "Morning, Dec."
