Chapter 49 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
I don’t sleep.
I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe around me like it’s judging my life choices.
Every sound registers. The creak of the stairs when Drew goes downstairs. The hum of the refrigerator. The soft, maddening absence of Ivy in this bed where she should be—where she was—before I decided I knew better than she did.
The guest room door remained closed all night.
And it fucking hurts.
I’ve negotiated mergers with less tension than what’s sitting in my chest right now.
Sometime after midnight, I give up pretending rest is possible and sit up. My feet hit the floor quietly. I grab my sweatpants and a tee and put them on. I don’t turn on the lights. There’s no need to.
I pace down the hallway and stairs, stopping outside the guest room door.
As much as I want to knock, I don’t. Knocking would still be about control—about forcing a response, about demanding resolution on my timeline. And I’ve done enough of that.
I sit down on the floor instead. My back against the wall. Knees bent. My hands rest loosely on my thighs.
I stare at the wood grain of the door and let the truth land without armor, without justification, without strategy.
I didn’t protect her. I replaced her choices with mine.
I didn’t step in because she was unsafe. I stepped in because I was uncomfortable.
And then I told myself that was love.
The realization sits heavy, ugly, and undeniable.
My head hits the back of the wall.
I’m in love with the woman I once reduced to a joke.
No—that’s not it.
Ivy isn’t untouched by the world. She’s survived it. She knows how easily love turns into loss, how quickly light gets swallowed. And still, she chose openness while I chose armor.
That’s a strength I admire. Traits I wish I possessed.
As I sit there outside the door, I vow to do things differently. To show that I trust her. To allow her to make decisions and trust that if she needs me, she’ll ask for my help.
To ask her about her past to truly learn who she is.
And in return, it’s time for me to open up and reveal the secrets I’ve kept buried for too long.
I just hope I’m not too late.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but when the door opens, it startles me. My head jerks up, and I wipe the drool from the side of my mouth, blinking rapidly.
“Ivy,” I say quietly. “Good morning.”
She stares down at me, her expression blank. “What are you doing?”
I shift my weight slightly. “I... couldn’t sleep without you.”
Silence.
I deserve that, too.
“I didn’t knock,” I continue. “I didn’t ask you to open the door.”
She stares at me with that same blank expression that makes my throat tighten. But I force myself to keep going. To try to make her understand.
Because losing her... Well, that possibility is too horrible to bear.
“I just need you to hear me. So maybe you’ll understand.”
I rest my head back against the wall, my eyes locked with hers.
“When I stepped in today… it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you to handle him.” I swallow thickly. “It was because I don’t trust the world.”
She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move.
“I’ve spent my entire life believing that vigilance is the same thing as love. That if I watch closely enough, act fast enough, control enough variables… I can stop bad things from happening.”
My hand curls slightly against my thigh. My palms are sweating. This is the part that’s really difficult for me. The part that hurts.
“And what I did to you was take your strength and turn it into something I needed to manage.”
My voice drops. Loses its edge. “That was wrong.”
The word hangs there. Bare. Unqualified.
“I didn’t ask you what you wanted. I didn’t check in. I didn’t even look at your face to see if you needed me or not.”
She remains still.
“I just decided.”
I twist my hands together. “I don’t want to be the man who makes you smaller so I can feel bigger. And I was. Yesterday.”
The silence stretches between us long enough that my chest starts to ache.
“Ivy… I’m sorry.”
This time, I don’t rush past it. I lay it bare.
“I’m sorry for speaking over you. For assuming instead of asking. For confusing fear with protection. For turning my issues into your burden.”
My voice breaks slightly. “And for the record? You didn’t need me. You never did. You chose me.” My eyes plead with hers. “And I don’t ever want you to regret that.”
She shifts slightly, her expression giving nothing away.
My pulse spikes, but I stay exactly where I am.
“You really sat on the floor all night?”
A huff of breath escapes me. “Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know.”
The silence stretches again, but this time, it’s shorter.
“You didn’t knock,” she says. “Or come in.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not entitled to your forgiveness,” I answer immediately. “And I’m not here to negotiate it.”
Another pause.
“I’m just here to tell you I understand what I did wrong.” My gaze shifts to Mr. Pickles, who appears between Ivy’s feet. He sits down and his tail thrashes once as he stares at me. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. But it’s obvious that even the cat knows how badly I fucked up.
I lift my gaze back to hers.
“And if you never want to sleep in my room again,” I add softly, “I’ll live with that. I just needed you to know that I see what I did. Fully. No excuses.”
She shifts her weight in the doorway. “You don’t get points for self-awareness,” she says. “You get points for change.”
“That’s something.”
Her green eyes meet mine. Sharp. Searching. Exhausted.
Mr. Pickles peers at me like he’s still evaluating whether I’m allowed back into society.
“I don’t need a guard dog,” she says quietly.
“I know,” I reply. “You need a partner.”
Her jaw tightens. “I need you to ask,” she says. “Before you step in. Before you decide. Before you act like the world is something I can’t survive.”
I nod once. Firmly. “I will.”
She studies me for a long moment.
Then, finally, she steps closer.
It’s not an invitation. Not forgiveness. But a beginning.
“Get up,” she says.
I rise slowly, careful not to crowd her.
“For the record,” she adds, taking another step closer, “next time you feel the urge to declare lifelong protection vows in public…”
“Yes?”
Her lips curve just slightly.
“…try using your words first.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding all morning. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mr. Pickles hisses at me on principle.
Fair.
“You can come inside.”
I take that as a small victory.