His brows drew together. “Further into what?”
“Your father’s world.” My voice dropped. “The parts you pretend don’t touch you.”
The ocean wind moved between us, playing with our hair and the edges of our clothes. I hated that this was happening now—when we’d finally stopped hiding. When we’d finally chosen this. Openly.
“I can handle it,” he said.
“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”
His jaw flexed slightly.
“I’m afraid,” I continued, forcing it out, “that one day I’m going to look up and realize you’ve stepped so far into protecting me that you can’t step back out.”
I hated the position we were in. Hated that loving me meant dragging him closer to a world he was trying to outrun. My fingers lifted to the delicate star at my throat—the one he’d given me the night he told me our dreams were written in the same sky. That maybe we were meant to find each other. That fate could light the path—but we still had to walk it.
“You’re so close to the life you want. Hockey. Michigan. Not the path your family laid out. One step closer to the NHL.” My voice wavered despite my best effort. “But this? It pulls you backward. Closer to their control. Closer to that business.”
His hand came up, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “I’m not choosing that world,” he said quietly. “I’m choosing you. And if it brushes up against it, that’s on me. Not you.”
I studied him in the moonlight. There was no bravado in his expression, only intent.
“Mom will reach out to Edwardo right away,” I said carefully. “If he’s going to be involved, it has to come from her.”
“Agreed.”
For a second, the plan fell away. The strategy. The alliances. It was just us. Bare and tired and standing too close to the edge of something that felt bigger than school corridors and gala threats.
“When Elise said felony complaint…” My voice was soft.
He didn’t interrupt.
“I thought I was going to lose everything in one breath.”
His expression didn’t shift much. But his hand wrapped around mine.
“And the worst part?” I swallowed. “I didn’t think about my mom first.”
His thumb moved slowly over my knuckles.
“I thought about us. About how walking away from you would be easier than watching this tear you apart.”
His forehead rested lightly against mine. “I don’t walk when things get complicated,” he said quietly. “I walk when I stop caring.” A beat. “And I’m nowhere near that. When it comes to you—I’ll never stop caring.”
We fell silent again. The tide surged higher this time, foam brushing closer to our path before retreating. “You’re not afraid?” I asked finally.
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m cautious.”
That stopped me.
He exhaled slowly. “I’m worried about what they’re capable of in relation to you. I’m afraid of underestimating them. I’m not afraid of standing next to you.”
Emotion rose in my throat. The boardwalk creaked somewhere in the distance as wood adjusted to temperature and time.
“There’s something else,” I whispered.
His attention zeroed in instantly. “What?”
I stared out at the water, gathering courage from its endless motion. “The gallery downtown.” My fingers curled into his. “They reached out last week. They’re expanding their winter exhibits. They want to feature local artists.” Colleen, the owner of the boardwalk studio who used to rent space on the beach, had followed through with her promise and made the connection for me. The result had been through my art, and that filled me with hope for the future.