Chapter 50 Ivy
IVY
Sebastian stands just inside the threshold of the guest room like he’s afraid the floor might collapse if he moves too fast. Mr. Pickles drapes himself across my feet, a solid, judgmental presence, his tail flicking once in warning.
I’m glad he’s siding with me. I hadn’t realized until now that part of me was afraid he’d choose Sebastian. But even he somehow realizes Sebastian messed up.
I cross my arms—not defensively. Just… bracing myself.
He looks wrecked in a quiet, contained way that makes my anger wobble at the edges.
“I meant what I said,” he says softly. “I’ll check with you before intervening.”
I don’t respond right away. His eyes are imploring. Hands tight at his side like he’s trying desperately not to reach for me.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” I finally say. “I need you to treat me like I’m capable.”
His nod is immediate—sharp and earnest. “I will.”
“You don’t get to step in just because you’re uncomfortable.”
“I won’t.”
“And you don’t get to turn fear into control and call it care.”
Something in his expression tightens—but he doesn’t argue. “I’m working on that,” he says quietly. “It’s… harder than I expected.”
That honesty lands deeper than any apology.
I shift my weight, and Mr. Pickles moves, watching me closely. I sit on the edge of the bed. The cat relocates to my lap with a grunt of protest, kneading like he’s trying to make a point.
Longing flickers across Sebastian’s face as he watches us.
“Come here,” I say.
He crosses the room and sits beside me, leaving space between us. Not hovering or crowding.
I exhale.
This is progress.
“You scared me yesterday,” I admit. “Not because of Silas. Because I saw how fast you stepped over my voice.”
His jaw flexes. “I hate that I scared you.”
“I care about you, Sebastian. That’s why I’m still here.”
“I don’t want to be the man you have to brace against,” he says. “I want to be the one you lean into.”
My throat tightens. “Then you need to trust me,” I say. “Even when it’s hard.”
He nods. “I will.”
I study him for a long moment, then rest my head lightly against his shoulder.
He tenses for a moment before he puts his arm around me. His tone is hesitant. “Is this okay?”
A sigh of contentment escapes my lips. “Yes. It’s perfect.”
Mr. Pickles emits a low, pleased rumble.
“I missed you,” I murmur.
His breath shudders. “I missed you, too.”
We stay like that for a while. Our breath syncs. The silence between us is comfortable.
When I finally pull back, my fingers grip his shirt. “Come back to bed with me,” I say softly, my eyes searching his face.
His eyes darken. “Okay,” he says. He shifts, grabbing the edge of the comforter. But I stop him. “No. I mean, your bedroom.”
His head jerks up to mine. A slow smile curls his lips. “Our bedroom.”
“You’re right. Our bedroom.”
I giggle as he scoops me up like I weigh nothing and carries me down the hall. Mr. Pickles’s collar jingles behind us.
I cling to him, inhaling his scent.
This is where I want to be.