Page 46 of Angel
I pull my phone out.
Had my session today.
It was hard. But I’m learning some things.
No pressure to reply.
I stare at it for a second before hitting send. An hour later, her reply comes.
I’m glad you went.
That’s it, but it’s enough to get me through the night.
Back at the clubhouse, the brothers don’t crowd me. They know. Joker nods once in passing. Tank tosses me a bottle of water instead of a beer. Wire pretends to argue about security routes just to keep me talking. Carrie sends over a plate of food without comment. This is what family looks like when you don’t have words.
Later, I lie down on the narrow bed in the spare room. Hands folded over my chest. Staring into the dark. The silence between two and four a.m. is brutal. That’s when doubt creeps in.
What if she realizes she feels lighter without me, decides she wants a version of life that doesn’t involve compromise, or if love just… isn’t enough?
I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Instead of spiraling, I ask myself something different.
Am I willing to keep growing, even if the future I pictured never comes true?
The question settles heavily in my gut, as it means accepting uncertainty, loving her without guarantees, and being a husband without the identity of father attached to it. It means redefining strength.
I let the fear rise. Then I answer it.
Yeah, I am, for her and us.
Because I don’t love her for the babies we might have.
I love her for the way she laughs when she forgets to guard herself. She organizes chaos like it’s a superpower, presses her hand to her chest when she’s thinking too hard, and fights for things that matter. If the dream changes, that doesn’t erase her or us.
I lie back down. The ache’s still there. The fear hasn’t vanished. But I’m not fighting it anymore. And for the first time since she asked for space, I don’t ask whether I’m enough. I ask whether I’m willing to grow, to stay, and to love her through whatever future we build, even if it looks nothing like the one, I imagined. The answer’s steady in my chest.Yes!I close my eyes and let sleep take me.
Chapter Seventeen
Stevie
Iwake up knowing it’s time.
Not because anything is fixed.
Not because the ache is gone or the wanting has magically loosened its grip.
Just… ready.
Ready to go home without pretending I’m healed, to walk back into our space without armor or charts or rules taped to the mirror.
Ready to exist there as I am, unfinished, honest, still learning how to breathe.
The realization doesn’t crash into me. It settles.Soft. Certain.
I lie still for a few minutes in my sister’s spare room, staring at the pale morning light creeping across the ceiling. The air smells like lavender and old books, and the version of myself who came here shaking and brittle and unsure if she was breaking or rebuilding.
I press a hand to my chest. My heart isn’t racing. That feels new. I sit up slowly and let my feet touch the floor. My body feels… quieter. Not fixed. Just not screaming. In the kitchen, my sister looks up from her coffee like she already knows.
“You look different,” she says.
