Chapter 18
For a woman determined to put distance between herself and a charming billionaire, I certainly hated the distance he put between us the next day. He came home after I went to sleep, and he left before I awoke.
So much for that whole “I’m not going to work as hard anymore” speech he gave me on our date on the swan boats. Maybe I was the confused one, because his idea of ‘not working as hard’ definitely looked like the complete opposite to me.
I missed him. I shouldn’t be so angry. I’d wanted distance from him, and he was certainly giving me that distance. But that didn’t mean he had to neglect his mom!
By late afternoon, I was more than a little upset.
I had no idea where he was or what he was doing, but I could make an educated guess.
Some emergency had come up, and instead of trusting his team, he had taken it on himself.
That was Topher—always needing to be the one in control, never trusting anyone else to handle it. It was infuriating.
Josephine didn’t seem to mind at all. She sat on the couch, her feet propped up, flipping through a magazine like everything was perfectly fine. I paced around the room, trying to figure out how to bring it up without exploding.
Finally, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Doesn’t it bother you?” I blurted out.
Josephine looked up, a soft smile on her face. “What, dear?”
“That he’s working when he should be here with you.”
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine.”
I stopped pacing, my arms crossing over my chest. “How is it fine? You’re recovering from surgery, and he’s not even around to check on you.”
She gave me a patient smile, the kind only a mother could give. “I’m sure he’s got his reasons.”
Sure, I told him that I wanted distance, but that shouldn’t mean that he falls right back into bad habits.
Why couldn’t he see how toxic it was to be so obsessed with his work? If this was what life with Topher would look like, I couldn’t see a happy future for any woman who chose to be with him.
I’d lived that cycle myself when I was back in college, buried in books and projects, too busy to pick up the phone and call my parents.
The guilt still weighed on me, the distance I’d created without even realizing it.
I promised myself I’d never go down that path again.
And there I was, watching Topher make those same mistakes.
By the time he came back that evening, long after Josephine and I had already eaten dinner, I was ready to explode.
Frustration simmered inside me, words bubbling up, ready to burst out.
But when I saw him, his shoulders were slumped, exhaustion etched across his face like he was carrying the weight of the world, and I hesitated.
Whatever I was about to say died on my lips.
Instead, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him.
He went still for a moment, then his arms came around me, pulling me close. His chin rested on top of my head, and I felt some of the stiffness leave his body.
"This feels so good," he murmured into my hair. "I could stay like this forever."
"Then let's stay," I whispered back.
And we did. We stood there in the dim light, his heartbeat gradually slowing against my cheek, my hands making small circles on his back.
I lost track of how many minutes had passed.
His breathing deepened, evened out. The rigid set of his shoulders softened incrementally, like ice melting in the sun.
But when I finally pulled back enough to look up at his face, I could see that edge was still there in his eyes—a tightness at the corners, a wariness that hadn't quite released its hold. The stress had eased, but it hadn't disappeared. It was still lurking, still waiting.
Whatever he was carrying, it wasn't something that could be hugged away.
Later that night, I awoke to the sound of him thrashing in his sleep.
His breath was ragged, his face twisted in pain. Heart pounding, I leaned over the bed to where he was lying on the floor. Gently, I shook his shoulder. “Topher, wake up.”
His eyes flew open, wide with panic, and he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to orient himself. Without thinking, I slid to the floor, reaching for him. My arms encircled as much of his broad, tense frame as I could, pulling him close.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, pressing against him. “You’re okay.”
He leaned into me, his body trembling as he struggled to steady his breath. After a moment, his voice broke the silence, low and strained. “It’s just like the nightmare I used to have when I was younger.”
I didn’t say anything at first. I just held him, feeling his tension slowly ease under the warmth of my arms. His vulnerability stirred something profound inside me, something protective.
When he spoke, I could feel the rumble of his voice against my neck.
“When I was younger, we didn’t have enough to eat.
My mom was so depressed, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I couldn’t take care of her.” He took a shaky breath.
“I still have that nightmare. That I can’t take care of the people who are important in my life. ”
He looked down, ashamed, and it broke my heart to see him like that.
He wasn’t the invincible billionaire I’d gotten to know; he was a scared kid, terrified of losing the one person who meant everything to him.
It hit me then how much he carried on his shoulders, how much of himself he buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities.
Topher’s shoulders sagged, and he stared off into the distance for a moment, like he was trying to figure out how to put something into words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low.
“You know why I don’t come back here? To New Orleans? To see my mom?” A bitter laugh escaped. “I always say it’s because I’m busy with work, and there’s too much going on. But that’s not the truth.”
I stayed quiet, sensing that whatever he was about to say was something he’d been holding onto for a long time.
“The real reason is that I was afraid that the second I walked through the door, I would turn right back into that scared kid again. The one who couldn’t fix anything, who didn’t know how to take care of his mom. The kid who was terrified of everything falling apart.”
He looked down at his hands, his jaw tight.
“I thought if I stayed away, kept building my life from a distance, maybe I could leave that kid behind. Pretend I’d grown past all that.
And for a while, I believed it. I really did.
I’d convinced myself that staying away was helping me stay strong. That I was fine.”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “But then this nightmare… It’s like the past isn’t done with me yet. I’ve built all this success, but now I’m right back there again.”
The pain in his voice tugged at my heartstrings, and I could see how much he’d been holding in, how much of himself he’d wrapped up in this illusion of control. I moved closer, my hand finding his arm, grounding him.
“You’re not that child anymore,” I said gently. “You can stop running.”
He met my gaze, his eyes raw with emotion, and I could see the conflict still playing out there. Then he added, almost too quietly for me to hear, “And I’m scared of failing you.”
His words hit me like a jolt, my heart skipping a beat. I pulled back slightly, searching his face. “You won’t.” My voice was barely above a whisper as I tried to make sense of what he meant. “You won’t fail me.”
As I held him, the tension slowly eased from his body, his breathing becoming steadier, the panic subsiding. My presence seemed to ground him, calming the storm that had gripped him just moments ago.
Neither of us spoke. We just lay in the quiet, the weight of everything hanging between us. Then, after a long silence, he looked at me, his voice low and raw. “Will you hold me while I fall asleep?”
But letting him in felt like stepping onto dangerous ground.
Relying on him, even just for tonight, would make everything feel too real, too raw.
And the risk? It was just too high. Because his worst nightmare—failing someone who depended on him—was my worst nightmare, too.
His failing me when I needed him the most.
“Of course,” I said quietly, willing my voice to stay steady. I figured there was no harm in holding him while he fell asleep, and then I would get back into bed. As long as I didn’t sleep next to him, I could protect my heart.
He nodded, and I lay beside him, pulling him into my arms. His makeshift bed on the floor really was comfortable.
His body relaxed against mine. With each passing moment, I felt him letting go of the weight he had been carrying for so long.
“You’re safe,” I murmured, my fingers gently combing through his hair.
He sighed, the sound soft and tired, and there was peace in it. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet I barely heard it.
His hand found mine, squeezing it lightly, and warmth spread through my chest. I didn’t realize how much I needed this, too. How much I needed to be close to him.
But I couldn’t let myself fall asleep beside him.
I’d drawn a line between us, thin and fragile, but it was there for a reason.
Depending on someone like this and feeling safe in their arms, letting down my guard, felt like asking for heartbreak.
I knew too well what it meant to lose people, to have them slip away when I thought they’d always be there.
Topher was different, yes, but how could I trust that difference?
How could I risk letting myself believe he’d stay, that he wouldn’t leave when I needed him most?
The thought of relying on him, of letting myself fall into the comfort he offered, was terrifying.
I could barely admit it, even to myself, but letting him in meant giving him the power to hurt me, maybe even to shatter me.
Yet, as I held him, his warmth against me, it felt undeniably good. I stayed awake, watching him, listening to his steady breathing as the quiet of the night settled around us.