“I know you mean well,” I say quietly. “I know you want to help. But I’m not your charity case.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“I know,” I say again. “But I want to make it on my own, Dom. If I don’t, then what was it all for? The years of saving, the burnout, the sacrifices. If someone else just fixes it, none of it feels like mine anymore. I need to know I helped my parents. That I did it with my hands. That I earned it.”
“I’m not trying to take that away from you. I’m not trying to erase what you’ve done or how far you’ve come.”
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“But,” he adds, eyes meeting mine, “if there’s ever a moment where it gets too heavy, I want you to know there’s someone who’d carry it with you. No conditions. No strings.”
He looks at me with a seriousness I recognize. “I don’t pity you, Jessica. I respect the way you’ve played your cards. I understand why you need to do this on your own, and I won’t take it from you. But if there’s a day where it’s too much, don’t let your pride stop you from asking.”
I stare at him, forcing myself not to kiss him.
“I need you to say you understand,” he urges.
“I understand.”
He holds my gaze, thumb tracing my knuckles.
I exhale, something loosening in my chest. “So… how long do I get this version of you?”
“What?”
“This version,” I wave a hand. “This open, emotionally available version.”
His brows draw together. “Have I not been this way before?”
“You’re a sealed vault, Dom,” I laugh. “I just—” I exhale. “I don’t want thisto burn out.”
“You don’t want picnic dates?” He frowns.
“No,” I say quickly. “Not the picnic. I love the picnic.”
“Then what?”
I turn to face him fully. “I don’t want the love-bombing. I don’t want the high followed by silence. The tenderness followed by shutdowns. I don’t want to wonder if I’ll get this again or if I’m shut out while you build back your walls.”
His expression shifts. He looks at the setup, then back at me. “I didn’t know I was love-bombing you,” he says quietly, looking lost. “I just wanted to do something nice.”
My heart squeezes.
“I know,” I say, reaching out to place a hand on his. “And I love it. I really do. But you have a track record of retreating. I’m a little scared it might happen again.”
There’s a pause before he nods in understanding.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For the mixed signals. For expecting you to be okay with it just because I didn’t know how to communicate.”
I stare at him, scanning every detail of his impossibly handsome face.
“I’ve been set in my ways a long time. I’m prideful, controlling, and selfish.”
“Don’t forget the god complex,” I murmur with a small smile.
“That too.” His mouth twitches.
He runs a hand through his hair and exhales. “I’ve been chasing hockey my whole life. Tunnel vision. It was my ticket out, my fuck-you to my parents, proof I could be someone on my own terms. It’s all I’ve focused on for over a decade.”
