“I’ll need more words,” I prompt him softly, my mouth moving against his fingers.
I’m mesmerized by his eyes, so open and unguarded, but I don’t want to guess and be wrong. So many years and layers, so much life now between us.
“I was protecting you. We were young, wrapped up in each other. Consumed to the point the rest of the world didn’t exist for me when you were around. I missed her coming out of her house. That girl carries the scars with her for the rest of her life because I couldn’t look away from you.”
“We did. We both carry that responsibility. Not just you,” I remind him. “I was there too, Yanis.”
He strokes his knuckles over my cheek. Our faces still so close I can feel his breath against my skin. Consumed is a good word for it.
“I know, but it was my promise to keep her safe, my signature on the contract, my handshake sealing it. Just like you are my employee, my responsibility. Then you got shot.”
For the first time he closes his eyes, dropping his head to my shoulder. Hiding.
“So much blood, Bree. It’s all I could see. Red. I emptied my gun into the guy. Just kept pumping. No control, just pure emotion.”
“It was justified.” I lean my cheek against his head. “He molested her, shot me, you were justified.”
“Call it what you want but it wasn’t justice, that was rage. It scared me. You hurt scared me. I thought I was protecting you. Us.” He slowly lifts his head. “Then life happened and it seemed I’d made the right choice.”
“You chose for both of us.”
It’s an accusation that has burned a hole in my gut. Maybe my biggest grudge has always been I didn’t have a voice. Not in any of it. Not then and not in what happened after. I’ve never had any say in what happened. Circumstances dictated; events directed me.
“I did.”
No guise in his voice or his face.
“So I ask you again, why? Why now? Why?”
The opening of old wounds is painful. You’d think time would have dulled, but it hasn’t. Not really. Maybe because we’ve never had an occasion like this one—never sought one out—a chance to let what for me has admittedly been a festering cut, just under my skin, needing to bleed clean.
“Why care for me now?”
My voice cracks as the words tumble out, revealing not only the deep hurt that is alive in me, but all the other feelings I thought I had locked away in the far recesses of my mind.
“I’ve never not cared,” he says gruffly, sitting back to run a hand through his hair. “As to what brings us here; call it full circle. I ended us when you could’ve died, it almost ended me this past weekend when I didn’t know if you were still alive. Lost and found.”
He reaches out and grabs one of my hands with his.
I choke up, needing the connection as much as I want to reject it. I can’t dismiss the chasm of time between us. The loss that separates us. The hurt that still exists. The trust that was broken. I’ve always known Yanis is the one person with the capacity to break me, and I’m afraid if I let him in it might leave me destroyed.
Irrevocably this time.
“It’s too late,” I whisper.
His hand flexes around mine and I drop my gaze to our joined hands.
“It’s not. It’s never too late.”
“Yanis…” I plead, but he’s persistent.
“We’re older. We’ve changed. I’m not asking you to go back where we were then, I’m asking you to start again. From this point forward.”
“It’s not that easy.”
He coughs out a sardonic laugh.
“Tell me about it. We have a lot to clear out of the way, but I’m still asking. Take a chance.”
It’s his turn to plead, and I glance over to him finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. The sudden inflation of my little balloon of hope scares me. It would be so easy to lose myself to his draw. It’s not just his looks, which have only improved with age, but it’s his solid judgment, his strong morals, his effortless leadership, his sense of responsibility to everything and everyone. Ironically, all the things that drove him to break things off with me.
I know that on a cerebral level, but my heart…I’m afraid to risk it.
“What’ll happen if I take a chance?”
He lets go of my hand and lifts his to my face, his touch infinitely gentle as he places his palm against my cheek.
“We go slow. Learn each other again. Be honest about who we are. Talk through roadblocks or baggage that might pop up along the way.”
I can’t hold back the grin that wants to surface at his words.
“Talk, Yanis? I have to admit, that’s probably the newest and most surprising change in you. You were never a talker, you’re a doer. I swear I’ve heard more words from you tonight than I have in all the years I’ve known you combined.”
He shrugs with a self-deprecating smirk on his lips.
“Even old dogs can learn new tricks.”
I hope so. God, I hope so.
He curves an arm around my shoulder, pulls me into his body, and reaches for the remote.
“Enough talking for tonight.”
I allow myself a smile as I settle back against him.
He finds an episode of Longmire, which I normally love. Unfortunately, I’m wiped, emotionally drained, and Yanis’s chest is as comfortable as I remember.
We’ve barely passed the opening credits when my eyes grow heavy.
Yanis
I can tell she’s disappointed when we leave her doctor’s office.
When I offered to wait in the outer office, she didn’t object. It’s early yet, I have to exercise patience and give her a chance to get used to the idea of an us again.
No, not again. An us, period.
Last night was good. I still have a thousand and one questions I want to ask her, but I get the sense I push too hard and she’ll retreat. Feeling her body melt into mine was enough for the moment. She also let me kiss her when I carried her to her bed, but I didn’t stay.
It would’ve been too easy to give in to that fire we still seem able to stoke in each other, but I don’t want us to burn hot and crash after. I want us to burn hot and make that fire last.
I bend over the back of the wheelchair I’m pushing her in.
“What did he say?”
“Another whole week for the stitches,” she grumbles. “No weight on the ankle until all the swelling and bruising is gone. He wants to see me again next week and then we’ll talk about physical therapy.”
She sounds dejected. It’s tough to be helpless, but I’m secretly glad it bought me another week of dependency.
Seven more days of showing her I mean what I say before I lose my leverage.
“Where are we going?” she asks when I push her wheelchair past the exit to the parking lot.
“Talked to Dimi this morning. He asked us to come meet Max.”
She twists her head back and glances up with shock on her face.
“They named him after your father?”
I grin back.
“Yeah. It’s a surprise for my parents, though. They’re arriving this weekend. They’re gonna be staying at my place.”
“You’ll be going home then?”