Chapter 35
CHRIS
Iwanted to punch a wall. Shatter every ridiculous piece of overpriced decoration around me. My face was burning. My hands clenched at my waist. But I didn't move. I stood there in the middle of the bedroom, eyes shut tight, trying to breathe through it. In. And out. In. And out.
Then I heard the door creak open. I didn't need to look.
The scent of chamomile hit me instantly.
And like medicine, it calmed my chest more than any breathing exercise ever could.
I felt her soft hands gliding up from my lower back to my stomach to my chest. Then her whole body pressed against me from behind, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades.
I placed my hands over hers, grounded myself in her, and opened my eyes.
"Are you happy you didn't end up marrying me now?" I joked. "Those would've been your in-laws." Because what the hell else could I say? It had been a shitshow. But not unlike plenty of other moments I'd survived growing up.
She didn't answer right away. She kissed the spot on my back where her cheek had rested.
"I'm so sorry, Chris..."
"Ah..." I forced a shrug. "It's okay. I'm used to it.
" Even I didn't believe my own voice. I turned around, pulled out my fakest smile to prove I was fine.
But she saw right through me. I knew she did.
The smile was fake, but what she did for me wasn't. The way she calmed me down without needing to scream or throw something or.
.. pour a drink. That was real. And I didn't know how she did it.
"I'm not just talking about your parents..." she said quietly, her eyes locked on mine. Glassy. Trying to hold back. "I know a thing or two about parents who should've gone to therapy before reproducing." She added, forcing a smirk. I gave her one back.
"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner..." Her voice cracked, and a single tear slid down.
"I'm sorry I left L.A. before we could've found each other.
" That snapped something in me. No. There was no way in hell I’d let her carry that.
My jaw tightened, and my blood boiled thinking of that bastard who had taken so much from her.
Not just us, but her fire, her confidence, her voice.
I'd read that script. She would've owned the screen. And he stole that from her.
I cupped her face, holding her gently but firmly between my hands. I brushed away that tear with my thumb and made sure she couldn't look away.
"Don't you ever say sorry again," I said, voice low and rough. "It wasn't your fault." The tears came, hers and mine.
"I would've loved meeting the fucked-up thirty-something version of you," she said with a watery laugh.
"We could've been so fucking traumatized together.
" That broke me a little, but I laughed too.
"I would've been able to be just yours for a while," she whispered.
"And then... we could've healed... and be perfect. So we could be... theirs."
The mention of her kids shattered whatever was left of my composure.
It was the first time she'd ever implied it.
That they could've been ours. I mourned the version of us that never existed.
I leaned in, brought her face to mine, and kissed her—slow and deep.
Like I could pour every ounce of pain and love and hope into that kiss.
We broke the kiss, but our lips stayed close, barely an inch between us. Our eyes locked again in that same tangled connection we always fell into. I gave her a crooked smile. I wouldn’t waste one more second being sad. Not with her in front of me. I was going to be grateful and enjoy it.
"At least we have this weekend, right?" I said part question, part quiet plea. I needed to know my parents hadn't scared her off. I would've taken anything she could give me. Hours, even.
She moved her head in agreement.
"And maybe," I whispered, afraid that saying it out loud might jinx it, "with time... we'll figure out our shit. Maybe one day, I can be..." I wanted to say "Worthy of you. Of our family." But my voice cracked mid-sentence.
She didn't let me try to finish. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her lips found mine again. And just like that, no more words were needed.
That weekend felt like slipping into another reality. One where nothing else mattered except us. The world outside didn’t exist; it was her and me in our tiny bubble.
The smallest moments turned into something else, as if life was now painted in colors I’d never noticed before.
An ordinary activity like watching a movie with her was never just that.
It was feeling her head resting on my lap, and her soft hair brushing against my skin.
Inevitably, we would lose all focus on the screen because I couldn’t stop touching her.
It wasn’t long before I ended up on top of her on the sofa, forgetting the movie entirely as we explored each other.
She let me teach her how to cook my favorite meal, and she laughed when I got bossy about the right way to slice vegetables.
She was so free, so present. The mess didn’t even faze her—not the flour scattered across the counter or the forgotten pot on the stove when I couldn’t keep my hands off her anymore.
I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want to wait. She didn’t either.
The evenings were magical. We’d sit by the window, a blanket wrapped around both of us, just talking and watching the snowfall.
Her body fit perfectly against mine, and her laughter vibrated through me when she made fun of my terrible playlist. But quiet never lasted long with us.
One kiss, one touch, and suddenly, I was pulling her beneath me, taking her right there on the rug in front of the fire.
For two whole days, time stood still. No past. No future. Just us, living in the present. And for once, it felt like enough.
I woke up to the soft light that came after a snowstorm.
The world outside felt calm, but inside of me?
Not so much. Half-asleep, I reached out for her, my hand brushing over the spot where she should’ve been.
Cool sheets. Empty. My chest tightened, and I sat up, scanning the room.
It hit me immediately, that hollow feeling.
She wasn’t here.
Panic clawed at the edges of my mind as I got out of bed, my eyes darting around the room.
That tiny bit of hope—the one that said maybe she was in the bathroom or getting some coffee—disappears when I saw the note.
It was sitting there, on the dresser across from the bed, folded neatly.
My feet felt heavy as I walked over. I already knew what it was going to say and didn’t want to face it.
I picked it up and unfolded it slowly. I saw her handwriting.
“I promise I’ll find you in all realities, even if just to have you for a little while.
Love,
Blaze”
I stared at the words, the ache in my chest growing stronger.
I couldn’t help but smile at the note. Whatever magical havoc had made us dream of each other, I didn’t hate it anymore.
I was grateful it led me to her; that it gave me all these moments.
It wasn’t enough, of course. How could it ever be?
Her love was everything. She was everything.
And she was mine.
Even if just for a little while.