Page 97 of Less

“See, I know who you are, Alessio Figueroa.”

His face crumples.

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. And I love who you are.”

I crawl onto his lap and cup his cheeks. Then, I wipe away his tears and kiss his eyes, his nose, his cheeks.

I press my forehead to his.

“You're the man who threw himself right underneath a falling light fixture for me.”

Another tear slides down his cheek.

“You're the man who spent all night making sure I was okay. The man who makes me laugh without trying, makes me tremble without even touching me, the one who plays with my hair because he knows I love it.”

His hands tremble as he reaches for me, squeezing my waist like he can’t believe I’m here.

Or that I’m real.

And that just makes me love him more.

“You're the man who would've died trying to save those children.”

I press my forehead against his.

“And no matter how much time passes, you're still the man I love. The only man I've ever loved.”

“You sure?”

“Since the moment I saw you, it’s only ever been you, Less.”

His arms wrap around me so tightly I can barely breathe.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers brokenly. “I'm so sorry.”

“I know.”

“I should've come home to you. I shouldn’t have stayed away.”

“I know you should’ve, but it’s okay. I forgive you.”

“I should've trusted you.”

“You were trying to protect me.”

“I was hurting. It was hard to forgive myself, but I should've just let you love me.”

My own tears spill over.

“Yes, Alessio. Yes. But maybe you can let me love you now? Maybe we can love each other?”

He buries his face in my neck.

“Love you, Rusty. So fucking much. You’re my whole heart.”

And for the first time since I've known him—really known him—I feel him break.