32 #2
‘I cannot undo thirteen years, Emily. But if you let me, I will not miss another second. Not with our daughter. And not with you. I do not have the right to expect you to forgive me, but please know this: I will never willingly choose to leave either of you again. I will choose you both, again and again. Every time.’
Another pause. Blake could picture him in the studio, probably in her chair, his hands gripping the desk the way hers did when the emotions got too big for the mic.
‘That week was not just the best thing that ever happened to me. It was the beginning of a life I was meant to have. With you.’ He hesitated again, his voice dropping further, so intimate it felt like he was beside her.
‘I have spent thirteen years loving the memory of you. Now I just want the chance to love you fully, openly, the way I should have from the beginning.’
A long exhale came through the mic, raw, honest, aching with longing.
‘I am here, Emily. Asking for nothing. But hoping, desperately, for everything.’
The silence that followed felt infinite, pressing against Blake’s chest. He’d come back. Despite the palace, despite duty, despite everything, he’d come back.
Morgan still stood behind her, silent. Blake pushed off from the wall, steadied herself. This was real. He was real. He was here.
Then, hands trembling, Blake stepped forward, rounding the corner towards the studio door.
She stood for a moment just outside. The ON AIR sign flicked off, and her whole body tensed with anticipation.
Through the glass, Mack and Sam exchanged a hurried glance. Mack’s voice came muffled through the airlock: ‘Right, uh…time for a coffee, mate?’
‘Yeah, coffee,’ Sam agreed, already half-standing, gathering his notes. Both men slipped past her, eyes respectfully avoiding hers, but Sam paused, squeezing her shoulder as he moved by, murmuring, ‘You deserve this, Blake.’
She barely heard him.
Leo stood up from the mic, turning. His face was calm but impossibly open, raw with cautious hope.
A wave of lightheadedness washed over Blake as their eyes met through the glass.
Thirteen years had passed. He had a different haircut and a few lines around his eyes, but it was still him.
Still the man who defended her to her mother, who iced her ankle at the wine bar, who kissed her in the alleyways of Chinatown.
She pushed open the studio door, stepping inside as it swung shut behind her.
Silence settled around them.
Leo watched her, waiting, as though the next steps belonged entirely to her. Blake’s steps slowed as she crossed the studio floor, each one deliberate.
She stopped just short of him, close enough to feel warmth radiating between them. Her voice emerged cracked with emotion. ‘You really have a lot of nerve.’
Leo exhaled, relief flickering across his face, lips curling with sad understanding. ‘I am so sorry, Emily.’
Blake’s gaze softened, her eyes filling. ‘I know.’
His eyes searched hers, cautious but deeply honest.
Blake felt something deep inside her ache at the vulnerability in his expression, the way he stood like he was ready to leave if she asked.
He murmured words in a beautiful, unfamiliar language that flowed like music. The tenderness in his voice made her heart ache with longing.
‘What did you say?’ she whispered.
Leo smiled, sad, lovely, intimate. His voice was tender, deliberate: ‘In any lifetime, I would choose you.’
Blake felt those words move through her chest, her fingertips trembling as they rose to rest against his heart, feeling its rapid rhythm. She tilted her face upwards and their eyes locked.
Leo’s hand moved carefully, cupping the side of her face. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, wiping a tear she hadn’t realised had fallen.
Blake closed her eyes for a moment. This was happening. After thirteen years of first dates going nowhere, of protecting her heart, of telling herself that week was a fever dream, this was happening.
When the kiss came, it was achingly slow at first, careful, as though each was relearning the other.
Blake felt her heart slip open. The tenderness of Leo’s mouth against hers was impossibly familiar, impossibly new, impossibly real.
She could taste coffee on his breath, feel the slight tremor in his hand against her face; he was nervous too.
The kiss deepened naturally. His fingertips brushed along her jawline, trailing into her hair.
Her hand curled against his chest, holding the fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his body beneath.
Through the studio monitors, she could hear the faint sound of ads playing, the morning continuing without them.
Everything else faded. There was only this, thirteen years of longing finding release.
She leaned in closer, her other arm sliding up around his neck, holding him.
Leo exhaled against her lips, his other hand pressing against the curve of her waist, drawing her even closer.
The warmth radiated between them, intimate in a way she’d thought lost forever.
When they broke apart, breathing against each other, Leo rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed, murmuring her name so softly she barely heard.
Blake’s voice trembled as her eyes opened to find him gazing back at her.
‘I’m here,’ she whispered. ‘I’m right here.’
They stood like that, foreheads touching, breathing in unison. Blake’s eyes fluttered closed again, a small smile softening her mouth. They’d found their way back. Somehow, impossibly, they’d found their way back.
Then the studio airlock swooshed, breaking the moment.
Morgan’s voice drifted from the doorway, dry, unimpressed: ‘Gross.’
Blake exhaled a laugh, her head still pressed to Leo’s, warmth spreading in her chest as he smiled too.
‘I think our daughter’s had enough,’ he murmured.
Blake sighed. ‘Oh, she’s only just getting started.’
Morgan stood just inside the airlock doorway, arms crossed over her chest, eyes exasperated but watchful.
‘Gross,’ she repeated, breaking the tension completely.
Blake exhaled, stepping back just enough to face her. A smile tugged at her lips. Morgan’s gaze shifted between them, protective, thoughtful. Their daughter. Who’d been braver than both of them.
Blake drew a deep breath. ‘Leo, this is Morgan.’
Leo turned towards Morgan. His expression shifted, overcome but contained, his voice steady despite the emotion. ‘Morgan. Thank you for letting me do this today.’
Morgan didn’t immediately reply. She watched him, assessing him. Leo waited, not rushing, giving her space. He understood. He knew she needed time.
Then, carefully, he asked: ‘Would it be okay if…may I hug you?’
Morgan hesitated only a heartbeat, her gaze steady.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘But you can shake my hand.’
Leo exhaled, a smile curving his mouth. He got it. He knew this was huge for her. He stepped forward, extending his right hand towards her, not presuming, just offering.
Morgan moved forward, her hand reaching out to meet his.
The handshake was careful, meaningful, a recognition rather than an embrace. Leo’s eyes filled. His first touch with his daughter. The daughter he’d learned existed only three days ago.
Then Morgan’s fingers shifted, locking around his, holding rather than releasing. The intimacy of the gesture seemed to surprise them both. Leo’s gaze softened further.
Without letting go of Leo’s hand, Morgan reached for Blake, linking them together. Morgan was choosing this. Their girl who struggled with touch, who showed love through acts of service—Morgan was choosing to connect them.
The three stood in the silence of the studio, a tentative family standing together at last.
Morgan exhaled, breaking the silence with teenage dryness: ‘So, now what?’
Blake laughed, squeezing Morgan’s hand. ‘Now, we figure it out.’