Chapter Thirty-three
Mikkel
“Love is not about how much you say ‘I love you,’ but how much you prove that it’s true.”
~ Unknown
I had never been the kind of man to let anger rule me—after all, it was the part of myself I hated most. Control was second nature. I knew how to hold my temper, keep my voice even, and make decisions without hesitation.
But that day, I slipped.
And what made it worse? I slipped in front of Abigail.
For the first time in my life, I understood what true fear felt like.
She had come back, but the weight of that night still lingered between us. The anger I’d let loose had shaken her. It had shaken us.
Even now, as I sat on the ivory couch in my living room, the weight of my mistake settled deep in my chest. I had scared the woman I loved, and no amount of distance or silence could change that .
I wouldn’t let that happen again.
Lately, the weight of her workload and stress had only made things worse, leaving her with debilitating headaches. She never said it outright, but I saw the toll it took—the way her shoulders tensed at sudden sounds, the slight tremor in her fingers when she thought I wasn’t looking.
But she had been fighting.
She’d been going to therapy more, pacing herself, listening to her body. Facing everything head-on. And as much as she worked on herself, I knew I had to work on me too.
Dr. Green’s words echoed in my mind from a session Abigail had shared with me:
“You don’t have to carry everything alone, Abigail. Healing doesn’t mean doing it in isolation. It means allowing yourself to be supported, to be loved through it.”
She let me in, leaned on me. And I had to do the same.
I had to do the work.
It wasn’t just about managing the rage when it hit—it was about catching it before it came. Learning the patterns. The way my jaw locked first, then my fists curled, then the heat crawled up my neck, suffocating me.
So, I put things in place.
The stress balls sat in my desk drawer, one in my car, another by my nightstand. I kept them close, forcing my fingers to squeeze, to move, to focus on anything but the building fire inside me.
And when the tension still refused to leave? When I could feel it rattling in my bones, demanding to be let out?
I wrote.
Not business strategies. Not notes for the company. Just thoughts. The things I couldn’t always say aloud, the feelings I didn’t know how to name, love letters to Abigail. Some nights, my pen tore through the paper, my handwriting nearly unreadable, but it was out of me.
And it helped.
Ronan kept his word about reaching out to psychiatrists and returned with books from a limited-edition store in Italy, all highly recommended for managing emotions and anxiety. They had also suggested weighted blankets, so I bought them in twenty different colors—every shade that had been listed as soothing, hoping one might bring her comfort.
Now, holding titles like The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown, Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy by David D. Burns, Burnout by Amelia and Emily Nagoski, and Self-Compassion by Kristin Neff, I felt hopeful.
These books weren’t just for her. They were for us. For me to understand her better. For her to find comfort and tools to help herself.
I spent my free time annotating them, learning how to highlight key passages and leave sticky notes with reminders. Next to a section about intrusive thoughts, I wrote, “Is this fear talking or truth?” Beside an excerpt about self-worth, I left a note: “You are brave, capable, and deserving.”
It wasn’t just about the books. It was about proving that she didn’t have to fight this alone.
The journey hadn’t been easy. There had been tough conversations, uncomfortable silences, nights where she curled into herself before slowly relaxing against me. But I had been ready to face it all with her, willing to carry the weight when she wasn’t ready to.
Because a life without Abigail-Ann Asher?
That wasn’t a life at all.
I exhaled, rolling the stress ball in my palm, letting the tension ease from my chest. Small habits—steady breaths, a loosened jaw, walking away—kept me in control. The rage didn’t own me; I owned it. And I intended to keep it that way.
The clack of keys beside me barely registered.
“I can’t believe you’ve been seeing my client this whole time,” Emilia said, her voice slicing through my thoughts.
I looked up to find my sister typing away on her laptop, looking far too pleased with herself.
It wasn’t often she willingly dropped by, but she’d had a client nearby and used it as an excuse to visit. The best part? Today didn’t feel strained at all. In fact, she’d been unusually extroverted—new, but much appreciated .
“Right,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. That was another shocker—finding out they knew each other all along.
She tilted her head, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “After a decade of no love, how’d you end up here?”
I chuckled softly. “She’s my blessing from God, hermanita . 66 ”
Her expression softened. “Is it official?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got a date planned.” Technically, our date should’ve happened weeks ago, but with everything going on, it had to be postponed. I wanted to make sure she felt secure, that this was the right time for both of us.
Emilia grinned. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Em.”
My phone buzzed, the alarm flashing: Meeting in 30 minutes. I sighed, slipping it into my pocket and standing.
“I’ve got a meeting soon,” I said, grabbing my jacket.
“Elijah and I will head out then,” she said.
“No, stay the night,” I replied.
She hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to disrupt anything.”
“Emilia, you’re not a random person—you’re my sister. Of course, I’m sure.”
She smiled. “Okay, but don’t be surprised if I eat all your food.”
I laughed softly. “Fair warning, but kiss my nephew for me.”
Grabbing my keys, I felt a flicker of gratitude. We didn’t always get along, but moments like this reminded me that we could.
I switched gears as I headed to my office, my mind shifting toward business. The Astar contract was still on pause, the family overseas in Germany leaving the deal in limbo. I couldn’t afford to let things stagnate, though, so strategizing with my team was necessary.
A request from the Milton Group sat on my desk, but since it wasn’t a priority, I let Morison set it aside.
After wrapping up, I stopped by Book Culture. The usually quiet bookstore buzzed with activity. I walked in, juggling a sandwich, a slice of cake, and a bouquet of primroses.
Then I saw her.
She stood by the shelves, helping a customer, her braids catching the light as she nodded—effortless, captivating, the kind of beauty that turned heads and stopped hearts.
When she turned and saw me, her eyes widened in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, walking over, still stunned.
I grinned, pulling her in for a kiss. “I brought these for you.” I held up the goodies. “I missed you.”
Her expression softened, and she smiled. “You spoil me.”
“As any man would do for his lady.”
She shook her head. “I think you’re just obsessed with me, Mr. Suarez.”
“That I am,” I agreed.
“How’s your day?” I asked, glancing around at the busy room.
“Exhausting,” she admitted with a sigh. “How was your meeting?”
I shrugged. “Still at a standstill, so we’re waiting for updates. But we’ve got a plan to move forward once they’re back.”
She nodded, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. “Azzaria’s sleeping over tonight, by the way.”
“I remember,” I said with a grin. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” she said softly, her eyes shining as I leaned in for another kiss.
“Goodbye, mi reina , 67 ” I murmured.
She smiled, watching as I turned and headed out, my heart lighter than it had been all day.
After the gym, I felt alive in a way I hadn’t in weeks. My muscles burned with that good soreness, my mind clearer than it had been in weeks. Getting back into the rhythm of lifting weights and focusing on each rep had grounded me. It wasn’t just about staying in shape; it was about shutting out the noise, regaining control. And after months of being pulled in a thousand different directions, tonight, I found that balance again.
And it felt damn good.
On the drive back, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. The group chat was on fire—as usual. These guys never knew when to quit. At a red light, I glanced at the screen, smirking as I read through the chaos.
Dill: Suarez, your woman stole mine tonight.
Me: Sucks for you.
Reyes: God, I hate lovesick men.
Luci: I’m in Greece with my wife. Life’s good, gentlemen.
Ro: and I’m at my hospital.
Everyone: As usual.
Alex: i’m nailing this whole dad thing. y’all should really try it.
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. Same shit, different day —someone whining, someone bragging, and Arnoldo pretending he didn’t care.
Reyes: Can we talk about how soft you all sound?
Me: Careful, hermano. You might be next.
Ro: i agree, Reyes.
Dill: Says the guy pining for five years.
Ro: Says the guy who fell for his intern .
Luci: Arnoldo probably googles “how to not catch feelings.”
Reyes: I hate you all.
The banter was endless, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
Then my eyes flicked to the takeout bag on the passenger seat, and just like that, my focus shifted. Dinner for Abigail, and by extension, Azzaria, was just a cover.
The truth? I couldn’t spend another second away from her.
The drive to her apartment felt like a blur, my mind already racing ahead to the moment I’d see her. By the time I reached her door and knocked, I was already smiling.
Gone.
She stood there in a pair of shorts and a loose tank that clung to her chest, her hair piled into a top bun, skin glowing under the dim light.
I swallowed hard, my brain short-circuiting.
Fuck.
I should say something.
I really should.
But all rational thought had left the building.
“Hey,” she murmured, her voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
“Hey.”
I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me. The second it clicked into place, I pulled her in, capturing her lips in a deep kiss. Soft. Warm.
She sighed against me, her fingers curling into my shirt like she needed to anchor herself.
When I finally pulled back, I brushed my knuckles against her cheek, taking my time. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She blushed, and I smiled, ready to say something else—until she caught me staring.
“You’re staring,” she said, a playful glint in her eyes.
I blinked, grinning. “There’s a lot to look at, baby.”
She shook her head, biting back a smile, but just as I leaned in again, footsteps sounded from the hallway. Azzaria.
“Alright, lover boy.” Her voice cut through the moment, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face. “Let’s set something straight. Don’t break her heart.”
I turned to face her, standing my ground. “I would never.”
Azzaria didn’t say anything right away. She just studied me, tilting her head slightly like she was weighing something.
Finally, she exhaled sharply and nodded. “Good. I’d hate to come after you.”
I smirked. “I believe you.”
Abigail laughed, and the tension melted into something lighter. The three of us talked for a while, easy conversation filling the space. It felt like home.
Eventually, I knew I had to leave—to get back to my sister and let her enjoy her girls’ night—even though every part of me wanted to stay.
Abigail walked me to the door, slipping her hand into mine. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Any excuse to see you.” I smiled, leaning in for another kiss. This time, I took it slow, savoring the feel of her lips. She melted into me, parting just enough for me to deepen it, pouring a silent promise into every lingering second.
When I finally pulled away, I cupped her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”
She nodded, but her grip on my hand tightened slightly. Then, in a whisper, “When you kiss me like this… I don’t want you to leave.”
A slow breath left me, my thumb now grazing her lower lip. “I don’t want to either.”
The air between us grew heavy, thick with something unspoken, the moment stretching taut. If I kissed her again, I wouldn’t be able to walk away.
But I forced myself to step back. “Goodnight. ”
She held my gaze for a beat longer before offering a soft smile. And as I finally turned to leave, I swore I could still feel the warmth of her touch lingering in my palm.
When I got home, Emilia was curled up on the couch with Elijah, trying to settle him down. He squirmed in her arms, still fighting sleep, but her touch was gentle, practiced. She looked up as I walked in, her expression unreadable.
“You’re back earlier than I thought,” she said, adjusting Elijah slightly.
I shrugged, tossing my keys onto the counter. “You okay?”
She sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions. For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, finally— “I’m tired. It’s not easy doing all this alone.”
Her voice was flat, but the words seemed to cost her something.
I watched her, noticing the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept her gaze on Elijah. “Emilia, you—”
Her laugh was dry, humorless. “I know what you’re going to say, and I appreciate it, but I don’t… I don’t think you really get it.” She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. “It’s triggering to have someone promise you everything and then disappear. To watch them ignore their own son.”
I frowned. This was the first time she’d ever said something like this out loud.
“You think I don’t understand because I haven’t been through it,” I said carefully, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not here for you.”
Emilia looked at me then, like she was trying to decide if she believed that. Finally, her voice softened. “Te lo agradezco. 68 ”
We sat in silence for a while, the air heavy with everything left unsaid. I watched as she carefully laid Elijah down, her touch gentle and precise. She looked exhausted.
Then, to my surprise, she scooted closer to me. And before I could react, she wrapped her arms around me.
I froze for a second, caught off guard. Emilia wasn’t the type to do this. She wasn’t the type to cry, or hug, or lean on anyone. But tonight, she did.
And it meant everything.
“I thought you hated hugs,” I teased, my voice quieter now.
She muttered something against my shoulder, her voice muffled. “ Cállate . 69 I need it.”
I smiled slightly, holding on a little longer than I usually would. “Te amo, Em. 70 ”
For a second, she didn’t say anything. Then, just as quietly, “Te quiero también, hermano. 71 ”
Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it hit harder than anything else she could’ve said.
I tightened my arms around her, letting her know without words that I wasn’t going anywhere. She felt safe enough to open up tonight, and that meant everything.
I’d always be here for her. Always.