“I became exactly what he wanted me to be. Some hard asshole.”
“No. No.” I screw my eye shut. That word.No. Such a simple but profound word. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear it and how I needed someone who wasn’t close to me to tell me that it wasn’t and isn’t my fault. That I’m not, and never will be, my father.
“Darby…”
“You protected your mom and your sister.” Her hands in my hair are so, so sweet. “You made sure they were safe, and you gave up your body and a pain-free future to do that. He could have killed you, and you still stayed so that he wouldn’t go after them. After all of that, you worked so hard, and you built your company from nothing. You made sure those struggling companies and all those people with all those dreams still get to keep them. You never took it from them. Not their hope. Not their reason for dreaming in the first place. You never made them pay more than they could afford. You have so many charities that the company supports and ones that you support personally, and I know you care about all of them. And the rest? I would be surly too if I were in pain all the time.”
“Darby—”
“No,” she breathes. “Just wait a second. This is the good part that I was getting to.” Her eyes are shining furiously. “There has to be hope. Other people have had concussions and head trauma. There has to be someone or something…We just need to find them. We need to ask.”
“We?”
“Yes. We. Us. Together.”
I shake my head. I won’t do it. I won’t get those stupid tests or take pills that turn me into someone I’m not. “No.” I swipe at my eyes. She’s still sitting on my lap. I should set her gently on her feet and put distance between us. I should not let her be out here offering me comfort like a toddler. I’m a grown man. I’m not pushing her away from me. I want to cling to her and smell the caramel and vanilla in her hair for just a few seconds longer.
“You are the bravest man I know.”
“You must not know many—”
“Leon! Shut it!” Ahh. I nearly smile. The toughness. Giving it to me straight, which is the only way I’ll accept it. “You know what else I know? I…I care about you.”
My heart stops, and I find that my cheeks are still wet. I can’t believe her. No one should have to care about me. This is exactly what I have never wanted for anyone. No one should have to bear the burden of another person. That’s all I would be—a burden. I was a burden last night, and I’m a burden this morning. Care, feelings, tenderness, soft emotions—they’re not for me. Never for me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her soft looks, her compassion, and the way she said she was breaking apart last night. I don’t deserve her pain, and I’m sorry that I caused it.
“Was that between the menial tasks I made you do for a year and when I was puking and groveling on the floor last night, or was it—”
“Yes.” She cups my face. She won’t let me hide or self-destruct. “Yes, between when I first met you and now, and I won’t let you devalue it or tell me that I can’t feel that way. You think you’re beyond goodness because someone beat that notion into you? Well, I will help you believe that you deserve all the goodness, and I won’t stop. You are not anything less than worthy. You are beautiful, you are a wonderful person, and you are not alone. I’m going to care about you, Leon, and I’m not going to stop.”
“Please don’t say for better or worse.”
“Neither of us really meant those vows, but we still said them.”
“So you came out here to save me from me?”
She frowns, but her lips are curling up at the corners at the same time. “If that’s what it takes. And anything else.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me. You can’t care about a stranger.”
“You’re not a stranger. I’ve known you for a year.”
It makes sense now. The way she defended me. Not just in that chat, and not just recently. In others, too, probably when talking with her friends and other co-workers. The way she never protested the tasks I gave her. Yes, at first, she did my scheduling, booked me for travel, did my expense sheets, managed my meetings, dealt with emails and filing, and all the other executive stuff, but then she started asking me for more. Like asking me if I needed coffee or how I was finding time to pick up my dry cleaning. I never demanded that she do those things for me. She was the one who asked me. And then, yes, I trusted her and gave her more. I trusted her with my car, trusted her with my clothes, let her get my coffee, and let her know that I like grilled cheese more than any other food. It’s not easy for me to let someone in, and maybe that was the only way I could do it.
Before.
Before last night.
Before I let her hold me. And before she went to war for me when I was too exhausted to fight. When I just didn’twantto fucking fight a second longer.
She knows. She knows everything now, and she’s not looking at me in disgust. She’s not frowning as she wipes away my tears, even now. That wetness is the manifestation of pain that’s not in my head. It stayed in my chest. I know what she means about ripping in half and about the ache. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts more than my head ever has. And if she can look at me now and not be disgusted by me?
I can’t lie to myself and tell myself that it doesn’t mean something.
This is the one thing I’ve never let myself admit that I needed. It was too dangerous to admit it, to even want it, to think the word. But now it’s here, and I can’t hide from it. I don’t want to hide from it.
Care. Mattering to someone. Connection. All those things that lead to that greater word that people throw around so carelessly.
Love makes a person vulnerable. It makes them stupid, and it transforms them. I love my sister, but this isn’t the same. This emotion is coming from someone who isn’t my blood, my family, and obligated in any way. It’s offered freely, against the parameters of our contract, in spite of everything and in the face of all odds.