“Hey, sweetheart…”
His gaze catches mine, and in spite of the fear in his eyes, his lips soften into a smile. “Sweetheart?”
I flush. This is the second time that word slipped out. The first time, he didn’t acknowledge it because of a panic attack. But this time, he heard it loud and clear. “Sorry, uh?—”
“No.” He leans into me, resting his cheek on my shoulder, and I wrap both arms around him. “I like it.”
I sway us gently until the trembling in his body eases, but when he’s still, I don’t pull back. The adjustor and Teddy can wait. “Why are you anxious?”
“Not anxious. Terrified,” he murmurs.
My arms tighten. “Of me?”
“Of fucking up again. You’ve worked so hard for this place. I don’t want to be responsible for a fire burning it down just because I want to make you soup.”
“Sweetheart,” I say just to make him smile. I can feel the curve of his grin against my shoulder. “This place is a shithole. You’d probably be doing me a favor if you set it ablaze.”
He pulls back, and there’s something like anger storming across his face. “Don’t.”
My brows furrow. “Don’t what?”
“Diminish what you’ve done here. Don’t act like this house isn’t everything to you.”
His words cut like the sharpest knife, and I struggle to swallow. “It really is nothing.”
Now he looks angry, and he takes a step away from me. “I don’t understand you sometimes. You work your ass off, you bitch at people who don’t see their own worth, but then you act like what you have—what you worked for—is nothing.”
I can’t seem to stop my own frustration bubbling up because it’s just one more thing he doesn’t get. He’s had mountains of trauma, but he’s never had to worry about the things that keepme up at night. He’ll never have to stress about not having a place to live or money to feed his family.
His life will always be more neat and more tidy than mine, and maybe that’s one more reason this can’t work.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I tug hard, trying to keep myself grounded. Everything I tuck into those tiny, dark boxes inside my head is now trying to burst out, and fuck, I won’t be able to handle it if I fully crack.
“Look, this isn’t the life I wanted, okay? I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for my mom to get knocked up when she was a teenager so I could be raised by a literal child. I didn’t ask her to meet some douchebag who ruined her life. I didn’t ask her to pop out a bunch of kids she couldn’t take care of!”
He blinks at me, eyes wide and owlish. I’m ruining everything, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Turning away from him, I press my hands to the counter in front of the kitchen sink and take several breaths. “I didn’t ask to give up everything I cared about to take on a job I never wanted. I didn’t ask to be so fucked-up in the head that I would be almost thirty before anyone was willing to touch me.”
Warm fingers press against my hip, rucking up my shirt, and I jolt at the contact against my bare skin. But as much as I should push him away—as much as I want to push him away—I don’t.
Because I can’t.
Because he’s everything.
“I’m sorry.”
Shaking my head, I fight off a bitter laugh. “God, please don’t apologize. I have a good life, and I’m over here being a whiny dickhead because I had to give up one thing?—”
“North.” The word hits me like a command, and my jaw snaps shut. A moment later, Leo spins me and presses me against the counter with his hips. One of his legs slots betweenmine, and his hand comes to rest over my pecs. His fingers are a heavy weight, absently toying with the silicone in my nipple, and I fucking love it.
His other hand lifts, grazing my jaw until I’m looking into his eyes. They’re endless pools, gorgeous hazel, leaning toward brown like mossy earth, and I could get lost in them for days.
“You didn’t give up one thing,” he eventually says. “You gave up everything. And I know you did it because you love your sisters and your mom—even when they might not deserve you. You’re a good person.”
“Stop,” I beg him. Now he’s going to start complimenting me, and he’s going to mean it, and I don’t think I can take it.
He shakes his head. “I can’t. I won’t. You need to hear it, okay? I spent so many years at the end of my marriage knowing it was loveless. Knowing that we didn’t belong together—that we were robbing each other of our chance to find the person who really made us happy. And he died before I could make things right.”
