“Maybe,” he says gently, not arguing, not dismissing me either. “But I didn’t know how to handle any of it. I had both ofthem in me, and I was scared of where that could go.” His gaze drops to our joined hands, his thumb brushing absently over my skin. “I didn’t trust myself.”
“I don’t believe you would’ve hurt me,” I say, cupping his face, my fingers firm against his jaw, forcing him to look at me, to actually see me when I say it.
His jaw tightens under my hand. “Neither did my dad. At first.”
The words land heavy between us, thick and suffocating.
“I know,” I say softly, even though my chest aches with it. “I know.”
The look in his eyes crushes something inside me, his misery pulling at mine, guilt and shame sitting there like they belong even though they don’t, even though they shouldn’t. I want to take it out of him, strip it away piece by piece, leave him lighter, freer.
“When I met you, baby, I wanted to give you the world.” His voice is rough, thick with something he can’t quite contain, like it’s been building for years. “I saw you there—beautiful, working hard, making the best of whatever life handed you, always watching, always careful. I wanted to protect you. Be with you. But I knew I wasn’t there yet. Not mentally. Not financially. Hell, I thought I was too old for you.” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “If I’d been stronger, I would’ve let you go. But I wasn’t. I had you, and I kept messing it up. That night… after we were together, after I knew I loved you… the only thing I could think to do was walk away. I figured you’d be better off finding someone who wasn’t me. The only thing I could think to do was walk away. I figured you’d be better off finding someone who wasn’t me.”
My throat tightens, the words hitting somewhere deep and tender, reopening something that never really healed. I try to keep the tears back, pressing my lips together, but they slip intomy voice anyway, fragile and unsteady. “That was a mistake. It hurt, Reid. It really hurt.”
His face crumples, the control he’s been holding onto slipping, and he leans in until his forehead rests against mine, his breath uneven against my skin like he needs the contact just to stay grounded.
“I swear I won’t do that to you again,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough, threaded with something raw and real. “I’m so sorry. I know I won’t fix this overnight. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying… if you let me.”
I search his face, my eyes moving over every line, every flicker of emotion, looking for hesitation, for doubt—anything that might tell me this is just the moment talking, just guilt or memory or the weight of everything pressing in on him.
But his eyes don’t waver. Not even a little.
“I love you, Sierra,” he says. “I have loved you since the very first moment I saw you. There’s no one else for me.”
My chest tightens, the words settling deep, heavy and impossible to ignore. “You really haven’t been with anyone else since we broke up?”
“No.” He doesn’t hesitate, not even a beat. “After I left, I figured that was it for me. I couldn’t even look at anyone else without comparing them to you. It wouldn’t have been fair. It still wouldn’t be.” His hand tightens slightly around mine, grounding, certain. “If you don’t want me, I’ll just… live with that.”
The honesty of it hits hard, clean and undeniable, leaving everything inside me tangled and too big to sort through all at once. My thoughts scatter, emotions pulling in different directions, too much and not enough at the same time. I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, trying to pull the moment back from the edge just a little. “So what—you started the retreat because you had too much free time?”
He almost smiles, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly, the tension easing just a fraction. “No. I went all in on fixing myself. Therapy three times a week, CBT, meditation—everything I could get my hands on. Reiki just… stuck. It helped me feel stable. Balanced.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch careful, almost reverent. “And yeah… I did it because of you. Because if I ever got another shot, I wanted to be someone you could actually rely on.”
“And are you?”
He holds my gaze, steady and unflinching. “I’m better than I was.”
That answer lands somewhere deep inside me, quiet but solid. Not perfect. Not some impossible promise. Just… honest. Somehow, that matters more.
I don’t know what to say. He’s handed me everything—his past, his guilt, his love—laid it all out in front of me without holding anything back, and I’m still trying to catch up, still trying to understand what it means for us now.
So instead, I lean forward and wrap my arms around him, holding on tighter than I mean to.
He pulls me in just as tight, his arms closing around me like he’s afraid I might slip away if he loosens his grip for even a second, and I feel it—that tension in him, the overwhelming need, the desperate hope he’s trying not to show.
We stay like that for a long time, neither of us speaking, the silence settling into something warm and steady between us, something that feels a little like peace.
Eventually, I shift slightly against him, my cheek brushing his shoulder as I pull back just enough to look at him. “I want to try something.”
“What?”
“Reiki. You said it helped.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in it.”
“I don’t know if I do.” I hold his gaze, steady, certain in a way I didn’t expect. “But you do, and that’s enough for me to try.”
He studies me for a second, searching my face like he’s trying to understand what changed, then nods slowly, a small, almost hopeful smile touching his mouth. “Okay. We can try it.”