Chapter Twenty-four
Abigail-Ann
“There is no remedy for love but to love more.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
W hat would you do if I was standing outside your window with a boombox on top of my head?” Mikkel’s voice crackled through the phone, and his question sparked a deep, unexpected, and genuine laugh from me.
I missed him more than words could express. His name and face were everywhere in the media, and I found myself hooked on his interviews, hanging on every word. But with him bouncing between New York, Seattle and Chicago for weeks, we hadn’t seen much of each other outside of FaceTime.
To fill the time, aside from work and therapy, I’d been having Netflix parties with my sister and using Duolingo every day. My goal? To understand Mikkel better without needing to run to Google translate. Progress was slow, and the owl was relentless, but I was determined.
Snapping back to the present, I realized I was smiling. “I’d think you were in one of those late-eighties rom-coms,” I managed to respond.
“Go look through your window.”
I jumped up from the sofa, disbelief rushing through me. “Are you serious?”
He chuckled softly. “Get up and see, Red.”
Without another word, I crossed the room, my pulse quickening with every step. I hesitated for just a moment before opening the window and there he was with that brilliant smile, a large bouquet of primroses and those glasses that never failed to make my heart flutter.
“There’s no boombox,” he said, his eyes twinkling with that familiar spark. “But I’m hoping this bouquet works.”
Happiness, joy, elation— none of them felt big enough to capture the emotions rushing through me. From the moment our paths crossed, he had made me feel a little less broken and a lot more loved.
“You are something else,” I whispered, pressing the phone to my face.
He shook his head, that playful grin still in place. “You gonna keep me hanging down here?”
“I’ll be down in a second.” I grabbed my coat as if my life depended on it and rushed downstairs.
When I finally reached him, I teased, “What are you doing here, Mikkel Suarez?”
His eyes locked onto mine, and the world around us faded. Just us.
“Just trying to make you smile, Red.”
“Mission accomplished,” I whispered as he handed me the flowers.
Mikkel’s voice dropped, warm and sure. “I thought I’d come see my love.”
His love?
I stepped closer, the space between us shrinking with every heartbeat. “Your love?”
He didn’t hesitate. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me in, his familiar scent settling over me like warmth on a cold night. “ Yes.” His lips brushed my ear, voice low and certain. “ Mi amor. 51 ”
“I like the sound of that.” My voice barely carried over the thudding of my heart.
“ Y me gustas, 52 so we’re even,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
Y me gustas. And I like you.
This man. This man. He was one of a kind. The kind you cherish. The kind you protect.
I glanced down, suddenly realizing I was still in my sleepwear, and a wave of dread washed over me.
Fuck.
I’d forgotten to change.
Heat crept up my neck. “I—I should go change,” I mumbled, taking a step back. But before I could move, his fingers curled around my wrist, gentle yet firm.
“Change? Why?” His brow furrowed, gaze sweeping over me like he couldn’t understand why I’d even suggest it.
“I’m… underdressed.” The words felt small.
His head tilted, slow, assessing. “Red, it’s nighttime. You’re in pajamas. You’re not underdressed.”
A sigh slipped out before I could stop it. Joshua’s voice echoed in my head, old wounds stirring.
Cover up.
You’re embarrassing.
You look desperate.
I swallowed. “I couldn’t be out showing this much skin with m—”
Mikkel kissed me.
Hard. With a hunger that made it feel like I was the air he needed to breathe.
Like he needed me to understand something words couldn’t explain.
Like he wanted to erase every cruel whisper in my head.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured against my lips, his voice steady, unshakable. “There’s nothing wrong with showing skin, amor .”
I wanted to believe him. But Joshua’s voice still clung to me like smoke.
“Hey.” Mikkel’s fingers found my chin, tilting my face until our eyes met. His gaze, dark and unwavering, held me in place. “Your past doesn’t define you, neither do the words of anyone from it.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
He didn’t push. He just saw me.
Then, softer this time, he said, “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips.
Before I could overthink or protest, he led me to the car, opening the door like always. I slid into the seat, the city lights blurring past in soft streaks. The low hum of the engine, the familiar playlist— Songs for You —playing in the background.
The drive felt like a dream, suspended between reality and something more.
When the car finally stopped, I stepped out, and my breath hitched.
Beneath my feet, soft sand. Before me, the ocean stretched into the night, waves shimmering under the moonlight. It was quiet, peaceful, nearly deserted—except for a couple walking hand in hand far down the shore.
I exhaled slowly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“We’re at the beach.”
He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Night beach. Number six on the bucket list.”
My eyes glistened as I looked around, overwhelmed by the beauty, the gesture—how he always remembered.
“This is perfect,” I whispered, more to myself than to Mikkel.
He took my hand, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of it. “Let’s find a spot.”
We settled into a sheltered nook near the dunes, hidden by tall grasses. Mikkel spread a blanket, and we lay down, backs flat, legs stretched. The salty air was refreshing as I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. His warmth, the soft blanket, the cool breeze—it all felt like a dream. The waves lulled me, but then a memory surfaced, sharp and unwanted, shattering the peace.
I was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps of a dress I’d picked for a night out with Joshua. A deep shade of yellow, flattering against my skin. I felt beautiful in it.
Until he stepped into the room.
His eyes raked over me, his expression darkening. “What the hell are you wearing?”
I froze, fingers fumbling with the hem. “It’s just a dress.”
“Just a dress?” he scoffed. “Are you trying to embarrass me, or do you like when men stare at you?”
The words hit like a slap, stealing the air from my lungs. Shame burned through me. I wanted to defend myself, to say I’d worn it for him, but the words tangled in my throat.
“You’re not going out like that,” he said, voice hard. “Change.”
So I had. And I’d done it every time after, until I no longer recognized myself in the mirror. Until I believed that no matter what I wore, I’d never be good enough—for him, or anyone.
A shaky breath left me as I forced the memory back into the depths where it belonged.
“Hey.” Mikkel’s voice pulled me back. “Where did you go just now?”
I blinked, refocusing on him. “Just… thinking about something.”
His gaze sharpened. “Joshua?”
I nodded.
Mikkel exhaled, his grip on my hand tightening—not enough to hurt, but enough that I felt it. His frustration. His helplessness. His need to fix what he couldn’t.
“I wish I could take away all the pain he caused you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “But I need you to know that you never have to feel like that again. You never have to change who you are, Red. You’re more than enough. ”
Tears welled, but this time, they weren’t from hurt or shame.
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine, voice soft but unwavering. “I won’t tell you to forget the past because that’s not how this works. But I will tell you that history will never repeat itself.”
I let his words settle over me.
“He always made me feel small,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’d say someone with my body type shouldn’t wear certain things. That I was begging for attention.”
Mikkel stilled, disbelief flashing across his face. “Your body type?”
I nodded, that familiar knot tightening in my stomach.
His fingers dug into my waist, gentle but firm, as his expression darkened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” His voice was low, rough with conviction. “Your body type?” He scoffed. “People pay millions for what you have, and don’t even get me started on your thighs—because I’d bury myself there if I could.”
A breath caught in my throat, heat unfurling in my chest. The way he said it—like it was a fact, like he’d thought about it—made my pulse stutter.
“And if you’re talking about belly fat,” he continued, voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I’ll be the first to tell you that it’s fucking sexy.”
His grip tightened slightly, his eyes burning with sincerity. “And those aren’t even the most attractive things about you. Because nothing comes close to your mind, your heart, your strength, your intelligence. You’re incredible, Red. Every. Single. Part. Of. You. ”
I swallowed hard.
And for the first time, I didn’t just hear the words— I felt them. Deep in my bones. Settling into the spaces Joshua had hollowed out.
My chest ached, my heart swelling as no one had ever spoken to me with such reverence and raw honesty, making me feel truly deserving of love and respect.
“Mikkel,” I whispered, his name the only thing I could choke out past the tight knot in my throat. “I always felt like I needed to cover up. ”
The fierce edge in his expression softened into something impossibly tender. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” His thumb traced my cheek, the touch grounding. “But just know, you never need to hide from me. Ever. You should wear whatever you want.”
I shook my head, struggling to believe this was real. “It really doesn’t bother you?” The words felt small, fragile, compared to how much this insecurity had consumed me.
“Why would it?” His brows pulled together like the question itself made no sense. “I know I’m dating a ridiculously attractive woman, and it’s my job to protect you. Men will look whether you’re in pants or shorts.”
I blinked, still caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.
“Clothes don’t invite torment, amor . Men do .” His voice darkened, edged with quiet fury. “It’s uncontrollable, disgusting men who take and take without consequence.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could say anything, he continued, “Plus, a man knows better than to touch what’s mine. He’d lose his hands before he even tried.”
A slow heat unfurled inside me, the way it always did when he said things like that—not suffocating, not controlling, just making me feel safe. Cherished. Wanted.
“I guess I’m insecure,” I admitted, the words slipping out like a confession.
Mikkel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “ He was insecure. And because he knew you were better than him—way out of his league in every way—he made you doubt yourself. There’s a big difference between a man and a boy, Red.”
The weight in my chest grew heavier. I knew what I had to say next, but the words felt like stones in my throat.
“I—” My breath caught. “I was cheated on. Repeatedly.”
Mikkel’s whole body stilled. His eyes sharpened, disbelief and fury flickering in them. “What? ”
I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Joshua,” I whispered, and just saying his name made my chest tighten. “He cheated on me with someone I thought was a friend. Gianna.”
Mikkel’s grip on my hand tightened, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, reassuring circles.
“I didn’t see it coming,” I admitted. “Or maybe I did. Maybe I ignored the signs, thinking if I just tried harder, gave him more, it would get better. But it never did. He was with her for months before I found out. Then came the drinking. The gaslighting. The fights.”
Mikkel’s jaw ticked. “ Ese pedazo de mierda ,” 53 he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “You didn’t deserve that.”
I swallowed hard. “I thought I was enough for him.” My voice broke, quieter now. “But clearly, I wasn’t.”
Mikkel cupped my face in both hands, holding me there, forcing me to look at him. “Abigail.” His voice was steady, but it vibrated with something deeper. “ He wasn’t enough for you. Do you hear me?” His grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure I understood. “You. Are. Enough. You always have been.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like weakness. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Something inside me cracked open. I had never told anyone before. Saying it out loud felt… freeing.
Mikkel watched me carefully. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
I hesitated, but the weight in my chest had lifted. “Another night.” I exhaled slowly, nodding to myself. “Let’s talk about you.”
His lips curved slightly. “What do you want to know?”
I studied him, wanting to uncover him the way he had uncovered me. “What do you want to tell me?”
He shrugged, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I had a huge insecurity about my glasses growing up.”
“Your glasses?” I echoed, surprised. “Why?”
“I felt out of place,” he admitted, his voice tinged with old wounds. “Imagine being the only one who couldn’t speak English, in a country that wasn’t home, wearing thick, nerdy glasses.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my heart aching.
“Eventually, I grew into them. I remember leaving them at home one day, thinking I’d be fine. But, I couldn’t see shit, and my dad had to rush to bring them to me.”
The thought of a little Mikkel stubbornly refusing glasses, but realizing he needed them made me smile.
“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” I admitted with a laugh.
He leaned closer, tucking a curl behind my ear. “Of course you are.”
His gaze lingered on me, his eyes soft but searching, as though there was something else he wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to.
“What is it?” I asked, tilting my head.
“It’s nothing.” He leaned back slightly, his hand brushing against the back of his neck, a small tell I’d learned to pick up on.
I reached out, gently touching his arm. “Tell me.”
His lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled. “I don’t… It’s not something I talk about often,” he admitted, his voice steady but tinged with raw honesty that made my chest tighten. “I’ve mentioned it a few times, but never in depth. I’ve always been quiet. As a kid, I barely spoke—partly because of the language barrier, but mostly because that’s just who I was. My parents worried, thought I was shy, but I just didn’t know how to express myself.”
He dragged a hand down his thigh, pausing as if searching for the right words. “That silence turned into frustration—frustration with myself when I couldn’t get things right, when I felt like I was failing, when things slipped out of my control. Frustration when I couldn’t be perfect. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. My parents worked hard and did their best for us. But as the oldest, carrying the weight of responsibility and the pressure to be perfect, it just kept building.”
I nodded, staying quiet so he could continue.
“It’s better now. I’ve learned to channel it into work, into structure,” he said, his gaze dropping to our hands, his thumb gliding over mine. “But some days, the smallest thing can snap me back into that kid who didn’t know how to let it out.”
My mind wandered, unbidden memories of Joshua’s anger flashing behind my eyes like fragments of a bad dream. The way his temper had made everything fragile—plates shattered against walls, words that cut too deep, doors slammed so hard they rattled the windows and came off their hinges. His rage had been wild, destructive, leaving me to pick up the pieces, both physical and emotional.
A voice in my head reminded me that Mikkel wasn’t Joshua, and I clung to it, desperate to believe it because I didn’t want to ruin this—ruin us. Even in his quiet admission, there was no threat in his tone, no undercurrent of danger. Just a man trying to share a part of himself he wasn’t proud of.
His fingers squeezed mine, pulling me out of the past. “Red?”
I blinked, focusing back on him. “I’m here.”
“You’re thinking hard about something.”
I shook my head with a small smile. “Just listening.”
His lips curved, a flicker of relief in his expression. He studied me for a moment before I broke the silence. “You’ve never been angry with me,” I said, the realization surprising even myself.
He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “You’re my calm in the storm, Abigail. I could never be angry at you.”
My heart squeezed at his words, at the way he said them like they were the simplest truth in the world.
Before I could reply, he stood and offered his hand. “Now, how about a walk along the shore?”
I smiled and rose from the blanket. “I’d like that.”
“This place…” I trailed off, searching for the right words. “It’s like the world has slowed down just for us.”
I turned to him, the moonlight casting shadows that made him even more striking .
“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly.
“That I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.”
He leaned down, kissing my forehead gently, and I closed my eyes, savoring the moment.
“Me too, baby,” he murmured against my skin.
Baby.
My heart fluttered at the endearment. I tilted my head to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation. But all I found was a depth that made me feel as if I was the only person in his world. The thought felt fragile, almost too good to hold onto.
“I’ve never been called that before,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not like this. Not outside of sex… ”
He smiled, a slow, lazy grin that sent a wave of flutters through my body. “Then it’s about time, don’t you think?”
I laughed softly as he cupped my cheeks. “Maybe it is.”
His phone buzzed incessantly on the blanket, slicing through the tender moment. With a reluctant sigh, he reached for it, his brows knitting together as he glanced at the screen.
“Give me a second,” he whispered before answering.
I watched him shift seamlessly into business mode. “No, Morison, we don’t respond directly. Release the prepared statement and keep an eye on the engagement. Anything concerning, flag it for me.”
The conversation was brief but efficient, and as he hung up, I found myself thinking about the carefully curated image he projected to the world. Everything about him seemed so controlled, so polished.
“You know,” I said after a moment, my voice tentative, “I’ve noticed that you have a very quiet media presence. There’s so much about you out there, but somehow, it feels like there’s nothing at all.”
Mikkel’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I may have Googled you,” I admitted sheepishly before he could respond. “It’s not every day a man like you enters my life.”
He chuckled, the sound warming my cheeks. “I’d hope it’s not every day, and I can’t blame you for being curious.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “I’m big on privacy. I try to avoid the media at all costs.”
I nodded. “I was just curious, no big deal.”
Mikkel took my hand, his touch grounding. “Privacy doesn’t mean I want to keep you at arm’s length.”
“I didn’t think you were hiding me.”
“I know the thought might have crossed your mind, so let me make it clear, I’d never hide you. I understand you want to take things slow, and I won’t push you if you’re not ready. Whenever you need reassurance, I’m here. Siempre . 54 ”
“Thank you,” I whispered, my heart lighter.
He smiled, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. “You don’t have to thank me. I want you to feel safe with me.”
I kissed him, grounding myself in the comfort of our connection—it was exactly where I needed to be.