Page 36 of Claimed By Fear
Dalvin looked up at me, his face bright with a smile that still knocked the breath out of me after eight months. His hair had grown past his shoulder blades now, long enough to braid the way he'd started wearing it. The shadows under his eyes had faded. He'd gained weight, filled out, started to look like the healthy young man he should have been all along.
He'd started painting again last month. The art studio I'd built for him was cluttered with canvases now, works in progress, experiments with color and light. He wasn't ready to show anyone yet, but sometimes I caught glimpses through the door. Abstract pieces, mostly. Swirls of dark and light, chaos resolving into something beautiful.
He was healing. We all were.
Vernon Ashby's political career had imploded two months ago. The evidence I'd been collecting for years had finally found its way to the right journalists, ones who couldn't be bought or intimidated. The story had broken on a Tuesday morning and dominated the news cycle for weeks. Former staff members came forward. Financial records surfaced. The investigation expanded to include fraud, bribery, and a dozen other charges that had nothing to do with how he'd treated Dalvin.
He was ruined. Facing criminal charges. His reputation destroyed beyond any hope of recovery.
Dalvin wouldn't have to testify. I'd made sure of that, working with lawyers to keep him out of the proceedings entirely. He didn't need to relive those years in a courtroom. The evidence spoke for itself.
"Eli, go wash up," Dalvin called. "Lunch is almost ready."
Eli dropped the football and ran toward the house, pausing on the porch to wrap his arms around my legs in a quick hug before disappearing inside. The casual affection still startled me every time. Still struck me as a gift I hadn't earned.
Dalvin climbed the porch steps and settled beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. We stood in comfortable silence, watching the mountains, breathing the clean air.
"Min-ho."
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
The words punched me. I turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign that I'd misheard.
Dalvin met my gaze steadily. His eyes were bright, but he wasn't crying. His voice was calm, certain, free of the tremor that usually accompanied difficult conversations.
"I love you," he said again. "I've been trying to say it for months. Every time the words got stuck in my throat, and I couldn't make them come out, and I hated myself for it. You've been so patient. You've never pushed, never made me feel bad for not being able to say it back. But I need you to know." He reached out and took my hand, lacing our fingers together. "I love you. I've loved you since I was fourteen years old, and I never stopped, and I'm sorry it took me so long to say it."
I set my coffee cup on the porch railing with hands that shook.
"You never have to apologize for that," I said. "Not ever."
"I know. But I wanted to." He squeezed my hand. "I wanted you to hear it. Not through the bond. Not implied. Actually said, out loud, where you can hold onto it."
I pulled him into my arms and held him tight, my face pressed against his hair, breathing in the scent of him. Bergamot and cedar smoke and home.
"I love you too," I murmured. "I was always going to wait."
From inside the house, Eli's voice rang out. "Dad! Daddy! There's a spider in the bathroom!"
Dalvin laughed against my shoulder. "Duty calls."
"I'll handle the spider. You handle lunch."
"Deal."
He pulled back and kissed me, soft and quick, before heading inside. I watched him go, this man I'd loved for half my life, this miracle I'd somehow been allowed to keep.
Then I went to rescue my son from the spider, and the day continued in its ordinary, extraordinary way.
***
