"I'm not?—"
"You are. You're drowning, and instead of taking the life preserver I'm offering, you're insisting you can swim to shore alone because asking for help makes you weak." His voice is getting sharper, his gray stare crackling with heat. "That's not strength. That's stubbornness. And it's going to destroy you."
"You don't understand?—"
"I understand perfectly. You're terrified of needing people. But that’s not who I am, Harper. I'm not going to bail when things get hard."
The statement makes my chest rise and fall, my breath leaving my body in broken spurts.
"You don't know that,” I mutter, heat working its way under my skin.
"Yes, I do."
"You can't possibly promise that.”
"Watch me." He moves closer, his tall figure now towering over my own. "I already contacted a Parkinson's specialist for your father. Dr. Amber Ross at Mount Sinai. Best in the city. I set up a consultation for next week. I put down the deposit."
The room sways. “You what?"
"I handled it. Like I said I would."
"Without asking me?"
"You wouldn't have said yes."
"That's not the point!" My voice is rising now. "You can't just—you can't just take over my life, Victor!"
"I'm not taking over your life. I'm helping you."
"By making decisions for me? By throwing money at problems without consulting me first?"
"By doing what you won't let yourself do—accepting help!"
We're both shouting now, in a single-stall bathroom on the third floor of StreamEats, and this is so far from how I imagined this conversation going.
"I'm not one of your acquisitions," I say, my voice shaking. "You can't just fix me."
"I'm not trying to fix you. I'm trying to love you."
The words hang between us, followed by silence.
Complete, devastating silence.
Victor looks like he's just as surprised as I am that those words came out of his mouth.
"I—" His gray gaze shutters, shoulders stiffening. “Fuck.”
"You love me?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper.
"I—" He runs a hand through his hair. "Apparently."
"Apparently?"
"I wasn't planning to say that. It just—came out."
I close my eyes, a laugh leaving my lips that nearly feels like a cry. I swipe my fingers through my hair.
“This is—I can't take your money, Victor," I say quietly. "I need to figure this out myself."
