Page 62 of The Grumpy Defenseman
When he opened them, the heat was still there.
So was the restraint.
“I need to say this first.”
The office seemed to hold its breath.
I lowered my hand.
“Okay.”
He swallowed. His throat moved once. The towel was still in his hand, twisted between his fingers like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“I hurt you,” he said. “In front of the room. With something you gave me.”
The words hit clean.
Not easy.
Clean.
“Yes,” I said.
He nodded once, like he deserved that. Like he needed the truth of it to stay in the room.
“I used it because I was scared,” he said. “Seattle had called. The number was real. The trade was real. Everything I thought I had under control started moving under myfeet, and I did what I always do when I can’t find a place for the weight. I made myself colder. Then I aimed it at the person closest to me.”
His eyes held mine.
“That was you.”
I did not look away.
“And it was not your fault,” he said. “You were not the problem. You were never the problem. You saw something good in me and gave it a name, and I took that name and made it hurt because I did not know how to admit I needed you.”
My chest tightened.
He kept going.
No defensive nonsense. No apology version. The truth with both hands.
“I am sorry,” he said. “But I know sorry is not enough. I know you do not owe me comfort because I finally figured out where the wound is. I do not want you to fix me. I do not want you to carry this because I was too late to handle it correctly.”
Theroom hummed.
HVAC. Iron. The sound of both of us breathing.
“What do you want?” I asked.
His answer came without calculation.
“To be honest with you before I touch you.”
Oh.
That was the sentence.
Not the romantic one. Not the easy one. The one my body had been waiting for before my brain knew how to ask.
