“You destroyed your home,” I said. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Says the woman who smashed an entire kitchen’s worth of dishes.”
“Touché.”
He set down the plant in the hallway and then went to the bedroom. I followed at a slower pace. The linens and comforter had been torn to shreds, like he’d taken a blade to them.
“This house was just a house before you came into my life,” he said. “But now, every room in this place has a memory of you. Fucking on the living room floor. Cooking breakfast in the kitchen. I had thoughts about our future and what our life would look like together. I was so fucking angry that Dante took that from you. From me. From us.” He shook his head. “The idea of coming home to this place every single day, knowing you’d slept in my bed, knowing that your perfume would eventually disappear from my pillow had me going ballistic.”
I sat down on the edge of the mattress. “So, you took a sledgehammer to the walls, and battered your furniture? The Boxer equivalent of setting things on fire. Starting over, huh?”
He nodded. “I haven’t slept here since you’ve been gone. I’ve been at the clubhouse. It was easier that way.”
“Why did you bring me here? Why did you show me this?”
“Because there are ugly parts of me too. Because Dante taking you, changed me, too. This is no longer my haven. Now this is just the place that reminds me of everything I almost lost. And I don’t want to live here anymore.”
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Then we’ll move somewhere else.”
He paused. “We?”
I looked at him. “Yeah, Boxer. We.” My smile was sad. “It’s too bad. I really loved your house. It felt…homey. I didn’t have that growing up. This was going to be…”
He walked to me and placed his hand on my shoulder, urging me to stand before gently pulling me into the wall of his chest. “We’ll make the new place just as homey. I’ll even let you pick out the couch.”
I grinned against the side of his neck. “What if I like floral patterns?”
He laughed. “You don’t. But if you did, I’d suffer through it. No lace curtains, though. That’s where I draw the line.”
“That’s my line too,” I assured him. “I’m also not someone who likes doilies and useless knickknacks.”
“So, I’m not in danger of living with a cat-figurine-obsessed lady?”
“Definitely no cat figurines. Maybe frog figurines. I could do frogs.”
He paused for a moment. “A lot of changes have been happening in your life. You sure you’re ready to live with me fulltime?”
I nodded.
“I’m a bit of a handful,” he warned.
“Pot, meet kettle.” I pulled away from him, frowning.
“What?”
“I’m concerned.”
“Sit, I don’t want you tiring yourself.” When I sat on the bed, he went on, “What are you concerned about?”
“Are you sure moving in together is a good idea?” I asked, worry marring my expression.
“You afraid you’re gonna get sick of me.”
“No.”
“You afraid I’m gonna get sick of you?”
“No.”