78. Allie
Allie
I knew something happened to Rico. You don’t end up emotionally mute, allergic to eye contact, and functionally dead inside because you suffered a mild inconvenience during your childhood. But this? This was… more.
Even coming from a world where kidnapping and torture are just another Tuesday, I wasn’t ready for this.
I didn’t expect to be sucker punched by the weight of it all—the guilt, the trauma, the years of silence that festered into something jagged and broken, only to glue back together and become who Rico is now.
The worst part? He blames himself. For living. For existing. For not dying in someone else’s place. And now I see it—how the world didn’t give up on him. He gave up on himself first. Because no one taught him how to heal. Just how to hide.
“Can you say something, please?”
His voice barely makes it past his lips. His amber eyes are scanning my face like he’s bracing for impact. Like I might run screaming. I don’t. I just stare, still trying to stitch my feelings back together with emotional duct tape.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” I admit, my hands cradling his face. “Rico… I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. But you do deserve to be happy, and that doesn't make you selfish.”
His lips twitch, but not in a smile. More like a flinch. “I’ve spent twenty-four years holed up in my own mind. I think I’ve selfishly hoarded enough solitude to call it a personality trait.”
I shake my head. “No. You didn’t do that for you. You did it so no one else had to carry your pain. That’s not selfish. That’s self-inflicted martyrdom.”
He goes still. Even his breathing pauses.
“You hid because you didn’t want to make other people uncomfortable. You shoved everything down so deep, you forgot what it even felt like to exist outside of survival mode. You didn’t choose you, Rico. Not once. Not when you were thirteen. Not when you were twenty. Not even when you married me.”
His jaw flexes. “No one would understand.”
“No one ever fully will,” I say gently. “But they don’t have to understand to care. You don’t need pity—you’re right. You don’t need the world to wrap you in bubble wrap, but people love you. They would stand beside you, if you’d let them.”
His eye roll is legendary, and I’d find it endearing if I weren’t already drowning in the ache of it all.
“You protected everyone from you,” I whisper. “Even me.”
He swallows hard.
“Please don’t leave me, Allie.”
God. It’s not a plea—it’s a gut punch wrapped in gravel and grief.
“Rico—”
His lips crush into mine before I can say anything else.
The kiss is all heat and desperation, a battle cry in disguise.
His hand tangles in my hair, angling my face just the way he wants it.
His other arm pulls me tight like he’s trying to weld us together.
Tongue, teeth, breath—I taste every broken promise, every unsaid word, every locked door he’s slowly been opening.
And it’s… a lot.
Too much.
Because this isn’t what he needs. Not right now. And as much as I want to drown in this—want to rip off his shirt and claw at all the demons crawling under his skin—I can’t.
He doesn’t need sex to feel seen. Something he used to hide more than anything else.
He needs to choose himself first. He needs to pick Rico before he can ever choose me.
So, I pull away.
"Rico—"
"I love you."
Well. That’ll derail a train of thought faster than a raccoon in the pantry.
I blink, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. And for once—for once—he’s actually giving me eye contact. Full-blown, no-blinking, lock-you-in-and-steal-your-breath eye contact. Which, if you know Rico, is basically a marriage proposal, and a sonnet wrapped in a neat package.
And damn it, he means it. I can feel it in every tense line of his body. But now I'm realizing love wasn't the problem—it never was.
"Rico," I say, my voice soft. "I love you too. Which is exactly why I’m about to say something that’s going to suck for both of us. So I need you to listen. No interruptions. No eye-rolls. No smartass comments. Just... listen."
He nods once.
"You didn’t choose what happened to you.
Not really. You protected Marco, yes. But you didn’t choose what came after.
Those men, that basement, the pain, the silence—it was all forced on you.
And ever since, you've lived your life trying to keep everyone else safe. Happy. Comfortable. Wrapped in a big, sparkly bubble of ‘let’s pretend Rico’s fine. '”
I reach out, gently cupping his jaw, because I need him to see me.
“That makes you a good man, Rico. A good person. But it also means you’ve spent every second of your life thinking about what’s best for everyone else. Never for you.”
“But..." he says, jaw tightening, "you’ve got a ‘but’ coming. I can hear it.”
“But, you need to choose you, Rico. Not me. Not the version of life that seems easiest. Not the plan that keeps the peace. You.”
His gaze drops, but I tip his chin back up.
“You’re only just starting to open up, to untangle everything you’ve buried so deep it practically fossilized. You’re finally getting help, and I’m so proud of you. But you’re still in the middle of the mess. And I don’t want you picking your forever while you’re still wading through it.”
He exhales through his nose. "So what? You think I told you the worst thing that’s ever happened to me because I’m unsure about you?"
“No,” I say, trying not to smile at the fact he’s actually feeling something, even if that something is anger. “I think you told me because you do love me. And that means you’re finally waking up. But loving me and choosing me are two very different things.”
He stares at me.
“I want you to keep healing. Keep seeing your therapist. Keep figuring out what you want—what actually brings you joy. Then, once you’ve got your footing, once you can breathe without feeling like you’re choking on the past...
then choose. Choose your life. Your future.
And if I’m part of that? Amazing. I’ll be here. ”
He’s quiet for a long beat.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But I’d prefer if you waited here. Naked.”
A real smile spreads across his face—crooked, devastating, and entirely unfair. Rico Bennetti smiling should come with a warning label and a fire extinguisher.
He pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. And for now, I don’t fight it.
We sit like that—tangled up in each other, hearts beating out their own awkward rhythm, breathing in silence that finally doesn’t feel so heavy.
For once, we’re not falling apart.
We’re just... here. Together.
And maybe that’s enough for now.