7. Theo #2
I arranged for movers to take my stuff to a storage unit—temporary solution while we figure out next steps. While I figure out how to convince Tessa that this is real, that we're real, that I'm not going anywhere without her.
The movers come at noon. I coordinate, direct them, watch as they load boxes and furniture onto the truck. By one-thirty, they're pulling away with the first load.
I need to head to the storage facility to handle paperwork, get the access codes, make sure everything is properly secured.
"I'll be back in an hour," I tell Tessa.
She's in her room, surrounded by boxes. Packed but not taped shut. Like she's not sure what she's doing, where she's going.
She just nods.
I leave, unease churning in my gut.
The storage facility is across town. Traffic is worse than expected. By the time I finish the paperwork and return to the apartment, it's past two.
I walk in and stop.
Half-empty.
My boxes are gone—movers took them.
But so are Tessa's.
I move down the hall, footsteps echoing in the sudden quiet. Her door is open. Inside, the room is completely cleared out. Bed stripped, closet empty, desk bare. Nothing left except the furniture that came with the place.
"Tessa?"
No answer.
I check every room. Living room, kitchen, bathroom. My room.
Gone.
She's gone.
She fucking left.
Panic slams into me, steals my breath, makes my vision narrow to pinpoints. I pull out my phone with shaking hands, call her.
Straight to voicemail.
Call again—same.
My fingers fumble over the screen, typing: Where are you?
No response.
Tessa, answer me.
Nothing.
Panic morphs into fury and fear, the two emotions tangling together until I can't separate them. I pace, try to think rationally, but rational thought is impossible when she's gone and I don't know where and?—
Wait.
The tracking app.
We'd shared locations weeks ago, back when my possessiveness had first started manifesting in tangible ways. I'd insisted, framing it as safety—so I could make sure she was okay, could find her if something happened.
She'd agreed, rolled her eyes affectionately at my overprotectiveness but unlocked her phone and sent the invitation without argument.
I pull up the app now, hands still shaking.
Her phone is moving. Currently three blocks away, heading east toward campus.
I grab my keys and run.
The streets pass in a blur. I'm driving too fast, taking corners too sharp, but I don't care. Can't care. My entire focus narrows to following that little dot on my screen, closing the distance between us.
Her phone stops moving two blocks from campus. I park haphazardly, half on the curb, and get out.
Look around.
Then I see her.
Standing on the sidewalk with all her boxes piled beside her on a hand truck she must have borrowed or rented. Alone, looking lost and small and heartbreakingly vulnerable in the afternoon sun.
And an older man—probably in his fifties, disheveled, smelling like cheap beer even from fifteen feet away—talking to her. Standing too close, invading her space.
Vision goes red.
I cross the street in long strides, footsteps pounding the pavement, fury burning through every nerve.
As I get closer, his slurred speech reaches me.
"C'mon, sweetheart. I'm just trying to help. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone..."
The man reaches for Tessa's arm.
She steps back, voice uncertain. "No, thank you. I'm fine?—"
"Don't be like that. I can give you a ride. Take you somewhere... nice."
I reach them, grab the man by the shoulder, spin him around, slam him against the brick wall behind him.
"Get the fuck away from her."
The drunk man yelps. "What the?—"
My fist connects with his face. Once. Bone crunches under my knuckles, blood explodes from his nose. Twice. His head snaps back, hits the wall.
"Theo, stop!" Tessa cries.
I do. Barely. Every muscle in my body screams to keep hitting him, to put him on the ground and make sure he never looks at her again.
But I stop.
Stand over him, breathing hard, fists still clenched.
"Apologize to her."
"What?"
"Apologize. Now."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind."
The man scrambles away, half-running down the street with blood pouring from his nose and terror in his eyes.
I turn to Tessa.
She's staring at me, eyes wide, face pale.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The words come out harsh, angry.
"I—I was leaving?—"
"Yeah, I noticed. Without telling me. Without even a fucking goodbye."
"I thought it was better?—"
"Better? You thought disappearing was better?"
She flinches, tears starting again, and I can't—I can't do this. Can't have this conversation on a street corner with her boxes piled beside her like she's running away from me.
"Harder than what? Than you leaving me?"
"I didn't want to make it harder?—"
"You don't want me! Not really!"
Something breaks in me. I grab her face, force her to look at me, see me.
"Did you really think I'd let you go?"
My voice is raw, desperate, everything I've been holding back for three days spilling out.
"Did you think I'd just... what? Say goodbye and move on?"
"I don't know!"
"Tessa. I told you I love you. Did you think I was lying?"
"I thought... maybe you were confused. Or just saying it."
"I don't say things I don't mean."
She breaks. Full collapse, sobbing into my chest as I pull her against me.
"I'm scared!"
"Of what?"
"Of this! Of you! Of how much I feel for you!"
I hold her tighter, one hand in her hair, the other wrapped around her back. "What do you feel?"
"I love you. I'm so in love with you it terrifies me."
My heart clenches. Relief and triumph and overwhelming emotion flooding through me.
"Then why are you running?"
"Because I keep waiting for you to realize I'm not enough. That I'm too young, too inexperienced, too?—"
"Stop. You're everything."
She looks up at me, tear-streaked face, eyes red and vulnerable.
"You mean it?"
"Yes. You're everything I want. Everything I need."
"But the age difference?—"
"I don't give a fuck about the age difference. You're mine. And I'm yours."
She's shaking, but relief is written across her features now.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. I'll move in with you. For real."
I carry her boxes to my car. Load them in the trunk and backseat, muscles straining but satisfaction burning through me with every item secured. She's coming with me. She's mine.
She watches, still crying but smiling now. Small, tentative smile that makes my chest feel too tight.
"Where are we going?"
"Hotel tonight. Tomorrow we start apartment hunting."
"Together?"
"Together."
I open the passenger door for her. She climbs in, settles into the seat, looks up at me with trust and love and everything I've wanted since the day she moved into my apartment.
I close her door, walk around, get in the driver's seat.
Before starting the engine, I turn to her.
"I love you, Tessa. I know I'm possessive and obsessive and probably half-crazy. But I love you."
"I love you too. And I like your kind of crazy."
I lean over, kiss her deeply. Pour everything into it—claim, promise, devotion, every feeling I've been drowning in for months. She kisses back just as intensely, hands coming up to grip my shirt, hold me close.
When we pull apart, we're both breathless.
"Let's go home."
"We don't have a home yet."
"Wherever we are together is home."
I start the engine, pull away from the curb. Tessa reaches over, laces her fingers through mine on the center console. I squeeze her hand, thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles.
Tomorrow we'll find a place. Tonight we'll get a hotel room and I'll spend hours showing her exactly how much I love her, how permanent this is.
But right now, driving through the city with her beside me, her hand in mine, I already have everything I need.