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“I knew what happened back in college was my fault. Don’t,” I warn when he tries to protest. “I brought that scumbag into my life, and I knew he was a jerk yet I defended him over and over. No, what he did to me wasn’t my fault, but …” I can’t quite find the words to make him understand that I know I made decisions in my life that weren’t the best for me.
“He was what I believed I deserved at the time. Learning the truth about my biological father … it changed something inside of me. Something that’s taken a long time to fix.”
Despite growing up with a loving mother and the best stepfather a person could ask for—who, for all intents and purposes,ismy father—knowing that I am the product of something horrific, isn’t easy to live with.
“Then you lost the job position you had been looking forward to because of what happened. On top of that, you got into legal troubles and then no other architecture firm that you were interested in would hire you. I knew it was all because of me,” I explain.
“I never blamed you for any of that. I never would.”
I laugh, though there are tears in my eyes. “I know. That’s what made it worse.” I laugh again, not even understanding what’s so funny. Maybe it’s the expression on his face. There’s absolutely no anger or heat.
Just pure, unfiltered love that he’s no longer hiding.
Looking at him in his face like this, the way he refuses to look away or hide his emotion, makes me realize just how much and for how long he’s been holding back.
It’s overwhelming.
“Maybe if you had gotten angry with me it would’ve been easier to handle,” I tell him. “But you didn’t. I knew you never would. You’d never sayI told you soor anything like that. Yet, your world was turned upside down because of me. Then you refused to go to work for Townsend Industries like everyone expected.”
“I wanted to make it on my own, first,” he says.
I nod. “I know. And I felt like it was me who stood in the way of you being able to do that. I can’t explain it, exactly.” I release his face and lay back against the bed.
I stare up at the ceiling because it’s easier than looking him in the face. Not when he’s staring at me with such love and adoration. It’s hard to believe I’m deserving of that much love, although I want to reach for it so damn bad.
“Diego, please,” I start. “If there’s one thing you believe in this world, please make it the knowledge that it’s not your fault that I moved away. Your temper never, not once, frightened me. I know without a doubt in my mind that you would never hurt me.”
I turn my head to face him.
“You never had to convince me to love you,” I say, referring to the words he said the night of Kyle’s wedding. “There isn’t a day since we met at nine years old that I haven’t loved you.” I turn and look him in the eye.
“There isn’t anywhere else in this world that I feel the safest than in your arms.”
I reach my hand up to cup his cheek and run my fingers through his beard.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too,” I whisper because even though I mean it with my entire heart and soul, there’s still fear.
But the smile that spreads over his face dulls the ache of fear in my chest. It leads me to start to believe that all of our years of separation were worth it. Just to see that expression.
“I—” My next sentence is cut off when the doctor reenters, reminding me of where we are.
For a few minutes I forgot that I was in a hospital bed, waiting to find out what’s wrong with me this time. What a wonderful few minutes it was. That I could pretend to be just a woman finally confessing to her best friend how deeply in love with him she is.
Except reality comes spiraling back down. It’s more than that. I’m more than that.
I’m me, the human form of a black cat, confessing her love to the man who would do anything to protect her.
It seems like any girl’s dream.
The truth is, though, I don’t want to become a burden to my best friend. The man I love. I don’t want him to have to always be the one to look over me and after me. What if he gets tired of it? What if I become too much of a strain on him?
I know Diego, he wouldn’t say anything. He would keep it to himself because he believes it’s his duty. But I don’t want to become a duty to him. Like I am right now.
Right as I have that thought, the door of my hospital room swings open and in walks a nurse to assist the doctor. The files in her hand are a reminder of exactly where we are. The hospital because of my illness that, at times, likes to rage out of control. No matter what I do.
Diego is immediately on his feet. The way he’s staring the doctor down makes him lean away. There he is again, fully in protective mode.
