Chapter 39 Aidan
AIDAN
Iturn Iris’s model of the lighthouse over in my hand, marveling for the hundredth time at her creation. Every time I do, pain grips my heart.
It’s only been three days, but it feels like a lifetime. I’m so used to seeing her every day at the office, and after our weekend together, I couldn’t imagine my apartment without her. I even pictured what it might be like if she moved in. The thought made me giddy with happiness.
Then I fucked everything up.
I set the lighthouse on the coffee table, grimacing at the mess. Multiple discarded coffee cups, pages of yellow legal pad scribbled with notes, old CAD prints. The scene reminds me of Iris’s desk, and a weight settles heavily in my chest.
I shake it off and pick up my laptop again, determined not to wallow.
I’ve already drafted the business plan for the new firm, and made a list of potential clients to reach out to.
Already started designing a website, though I’m stuck on the name.
I want Iris’s name in the title, but Prescott is the name of John’s firm, something I think we’d both want to avoid.
Of course, that’s assuming she even wants to do this with me. That she’ll ever talk to me again.
I toss my laptop onto the sofa, rising to drag an impatient hand through my hair. Should I call her? Stop by? I want to apologize again—apologize a thousand times—but she asked for space. I need to respect that.
I pace restlessly, which isn’t easy with two drafting tables, a desk, and an extra sofa jammed into my living room. My foot catches on the corner of the coffee table, sending pain shooting up my leg, and a string of curses escapes me as I collapse onto the sofa, dropping my head into my hands.
Who am I kidding? I haven’t slept for days.
I’m exhausted and miserable. I want to be strong, want to be the man Iris needs, but I’m not sure if I can do this without her.
I don’t want to do this without her. I’ve spent so long focusing on the wrong things, and for what?
Work, success, all the things I thought I needed—they don’t matter.
Iris is what matters. It’s so clear to me now.
She’s all I need.
A knock comes at the door, tentative and quiet, and for a second I think I’ve imagined it. When it comes again, louder, I push to my feet with a frown. It’s probably Soph, checking in. She’s been fussing over me a lot the past couple days.
But when I tug the door open, Iris stands there. She’s in that indigo dress, caramel hair tumbling in waves over her shoulders, hope shining in those cornflower-blue eyes.
And my heart stops.
“Hi,” she murmurs, biting her lip. “Can I… come in?”
I step aside, pulse spiraling. Somehow, she’s become more beautiful in the time we’ve been apart.
Somehow, I love her even more.
As I close the door, her gaze sweeps around my living room, taking in the discarded coffee cups, the jumble of furniture, the stack of takeout containers piled on the counter.
I glance in the entryway mirror, raking a hand through my hair to try to tidy myself up, but it’s no use.
I haven’t showered since yesterday, eyes shadowed by dark circles, those same stained sweats still hanging off my hips. I’m a mess.
She glances back at me, a knot of concern appearing between her brows. Like she’s worried. About me.
“Aidan,” she whispers, and something in my chest breaks.
I fall to my knees in front of her, wrapping my arms around her waist, burying my face in her dress. “I’m so sorry, Iris. I was stupid and wrong. It wasn’t my place to say anything, and to say it to John, fuck, I’m—”
“Hey,” she murmurs, touching my shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Her fingers stroke my hair, soft and tender, moving to my beard. When I glance up, she wipes a thumb over my cheek. I didn’t even realize I was crying.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” she says softly. “You were protecting me. You’re always protecting me.”
I stare at her in disbelief. She’s really okay?
She holds out her hand, trying to help me to my feet. I take it, straightening, and gaze down at her, chest tight with uncertainty.
“I’m sorry I ran off like that,” she says, and I shake my head.
“No, I’m sorry you overheard what you did. I wanted to speak to you about it, I just didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She nods, absorbing this. “I was hurt at first. Not only at how you spoke to Dad behind my back, but… just what you were implying. I thought you were saying…” She huffs a small laugh. “That there was something wrong with me.”
“No, sweetheart, I swear—”
“I know,” she cuts in gently, and I bite my tongue, giving her space to talk. “I know that now. I’ve done a lot of reading over the past couple days, talked to some friends, and…” She lets her breath out slowly. “I think you’re right. I think I have ADHD.”
Relief trickles through me that she’s taken it on board. I should have trusted her to handle it.
“How do you feel about that?” I ask.
“It explains a lot.” She rolls her lips to one side in thought. “I feel a lot of sadness for all the times I beat myself up, all the times I let others push me around.”
My heart clenches, and I stroke her cheek, fighting the urge to pull her close.
“But I also feel… relief.” She softens. “It’s like you said. There’s a reason I find things so hard sometimes, and it’s not my fault. Now that I know that, I can do things differently.”
Some broken part inside me begins to piece itself back together. Not only that she’s here, but that she saw my good intentions behind it. That, maybe, I’ve been able to help.
“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her, voice cracking. “That you’re so open to this, that you’re strong enough to face it and accept it.”
“It’s because of you, Aidan.” Her hand comes to my chest, over my aching heart. “You showed me my strength. Showed me I’m not broken, that I’m okay as I am.”
My throat cinches tight. “You’re more than okay, Iris.
You’re wonderful. And…” God, I don’t want to push her, but I have to tell her.
To make sure she knows. I’ll regret it forever if I don’t.
“I love you more than anything, more than I knew I could love someone. I want a life with you. I understand if you need time—”
“I don’t,” she cuts in, eyes glistening with tears. “I don’t need time. I need you.”
Oh, God.
I press my eyes closed against the rush of emotion. She needs me as much as I need her. I haven’t ruined this.
“Can you forgive me?” I ask, voice ragged.
Her fingers press gently to my heart. “There’s nothing to forgive. As the most amazing man I’ve ever met once told me, You’re allowed to make mistakes.”
My eyes overflow at her words, moistening my cheeks. I can’t believe how much she’s grown, how she’s stepped into her power, found her voice. And knowing I might have had something to do with that… it’s everything.
“I love you,” she whispers, pushing onto her toes to brush her mouth to mine. “Thank you for seeing me. For loving me as I am.”
Fuck.
My heart fills, warm with hope and love, and I pull her close. “I will always love you exactly as you are,” I say roughly.
I tighten my arms around her, crushing her to my chest as I kiss her hard. Her hands come to my hair, my face, my shoulders, like she can’t touch me enough. I inch toward the sofa, wanting to tug her down onto me, to feel all of her against me, but one of the drafting tables jams in my side.
“Shit,” I mutter, pulling away with a wince.
She giggles, stroking the spot. “You okay?”
I nod, laughing, as she looks at my office furniture, cluttering the room.
“Dad told me you quit,” she murmurs.
I furrow my brow. “Have you been at work?”
She shakes her head. “I popped in today to yell at him, and he said—”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Yell at him?”
Her eyes burn fiercely. “Yes. It was long overdue, don’t you think?”
“Shit,” I mutter, eyes widening. “Yes, I do.”
“I told him how much he’s hurt me, that I won’t let him push me around anymore. Then I quit.”
My lips part in awe. “You did?”
She nods, and pride surges through me, so strong I think I might burst. “God, I’m so fucking proud of you, sweetheart.”
“Yes, well…” She cringes, her gaze flicking away. “You might not be quite as thrilled to know I told him about us. He asked, and I didn’t want to lie. I wanted to own it.”
I scratch my chin as I absorb this, realizing I don’t care. If anything, I’m glad it’s out. No more hiding.
“How did he take it?”
“At first I thought he was worried about me, about you taking advantage of me by crossing the line, or something.” She releases a laugh that’s without mirth. “But all he really cared about was the firm’s reputation.”
I grind my jaw murderously. Fucking typical. John’s worried about damage control, not his daughter. I feel sorry for him, in a way. He doesn’t know any other way to be. My father was exactly the same. Putting his work above all else. Above love.
And I’m so fucking grateful that’s no longer me.
“And then…” Her eyes glint wickedly. “I rubbed salt in the wound by telling him all the places we crossed the line together.”
“Oh, shit,” I say, surprised to find myself laughing. “For real?”
“Uh-huh. You should have seen his face.”
I pull her close again, burying my face in her hair with a chuckle. “I wish I could have.”
She sighs against me, soft and warm like home, and I decide it’s time to ask. To see if she wants the same things I do.
“What are you going to do now?” I ask, drawing away to study her face. “You’re free from John’s control. You can do anything.”
She scrunches her nose. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just impulsively marched in there and quit.”
We share a knowing smile at her use of the word impulsive.
“I’m thinking of starting my own firm,” I say, and her eyes light up.
“Oh, I love that. That’s exactly what you should do.”
I smile at her enthusiasm. “I was wondering if you might be interested.”
She lifts her brows. “You want me to work for you?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Color stains her cheeks. “Sorry, I thought—”
“I want you to work with me. As my partner.”
She sucks in a breath, eyes moving between mine, as if searching for the catch. At last she asks, “Really?”
“Really.” I take her hands in mine, squeezing. “I want to choose projects we’re both excited about. Projects you can work on. Not as my assistant, Iris. As a designer. A real one. The way you should have been all along.”
Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, like she can’t decide what to say. “Can I… do that? Without the qualification?”
“Yes. You can’t call yourself a licensed architect, but you can design, like you did with the studios and the lighthouse. As long as someone with a license signs off on the drawings”—I gesture to myself—“you can take on project work. This time, you’ll actually get the credit and the paycheck.”
Her eyes glitter with possibility. “What would I call myself, then?”
I shrug. “Your title would reflect your role. Designer. Partner. Both. Whatever we choose. The point is, you’d be building this with me.”
“With you,” she whispers. I wait for her to smile, but a frown creases her brow. “But what if… Knowing what I know now, what if I can’t stick with it? What if I get bored? I’ve had so many jobs, Aidan. So many hobbies…”
I soften. Of course, her mind goes to the ways she might mess up. That’s going to be a hard habit to shake, one I’m all too happy to help her with.
“We’ll deal with that if the time comes,” I say gently.
“But it’s our firm, and we have the power to choose.
To look for projects that genuinely excite us, challenge us.
God knows I need that as much as you.” I reach for her face, stroking my thumb softly over her cheek.
“Your ADHD doesn’t mean you can’t stick with things, sweetheart.
It just means you need to follow what interests you.
How can that not be a good thing? We’ll let your enthusiasm and passion guide us.
” I give her a wry smile. “I know one thing for sure: we’ll never be bored. ”
She issues a quiet laugh. “That sounds kind of amazing, actually.”
“Exactly,” I murmur, pressing my mouth to hers.
She bounces on her toes, like she’s already excited and can’t wait to get started. “So, what do we do now?”
“I’ve drafted a business plan, and I’m still coming up with a name for the firm. We need to find an office somewhere, because…” I motion around us to my living room, too full to move, and she laughs. “And then we need clients. A project to actually work on.”
She stills suddenly, as if realizing something, her breath catching.
“You okay?” I ask, and she nods, a grin curling along her lips.
“A project?” Her eyes sparkle as she reaches for her phone. “I think I’ve got the perfect one.”