Chapter 14
fourteen
. . .
Bennett
I wake to the weight of her against me.
Hannah's head rests on my chest, one arm draped across my ribs, her breathing slow and even.
The morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, painting her skin in warm tones.
Her hair is a mess, tangled from sleep and last night's tears, but she's here. In my arms. Where she belongs.
I don't move. Don't want to disturb this moment. My hand rests on her back, feeling the rise and fall of each breath. She's warm, solid, real. After two days of silence and distance, having her here feels like something I need to protect.
Last night was raw. Necessary. But it wasn't enough.
We talked through the hurt, the fear, the insecurity. We made love like we were trying to prove something to each other. But the real work, the hard work of building something that won't break the next time life gets difficult, that starts now.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, careful not to wake her, then slowly ease myself out from under her. She stirs slightly, making a small sound of protest, but doesn't wake. I tuck the blanket around her shoulders and slip out of the bedroom.
The apartment is quiet. Small. It still feels wrong being here instead of at home, our home, but I understand why she needed this space. Why she retreated here when everything felt too big.
I grab my keys and wallet, pulling on yesterday's shirt. Coffee. Bagels. Something simple and real. We need to eat, to ground ourselves in something normal before we have the conversation we need to have.
The drive to the bakery is short. I order two coffees, black with one sugar for me, vanilla latte for her, and a bag of bagels with cream cheese.
The woman behind the counter smiles at me like she knows something I don't, and I realize I probably look exactly like what I am: a man trying to fix something important.
On the drive back, my mind turns over what I need to say. Not the reassurances from last night, those were important, but they weren't enough. We need to talk about what happens next. About how we move forward. About building something stronger than what we had before.
Because this will happen again. Life will get hard. She'll get scared. And I need to know that when it does, she won't pull away. That she'll let me in instead of trying to carry everything alone.
When I get back to her apartment, she's awake. I can hear the shower running. I set the coffee and bagels on the counter and wait, leaning against the kitchen island.
A few minutes later, she emerges from the bathroom in leggings and one of my t-shirts, the same Yale shirt from this morning. Her hair is damp, pulled back in a loose bun. She looks tired but calmer. More like herself.
"You left," she says quietly.
"I got breakfast." I gesture to the counter. "Thought we could eat before we talk."
She nods, moving to the counter. I hand her the latte, and she takes it gratefully, wrapping both hands around the cup like she needs the warmth. We eat in comfortable silence, bagels with cream cheese, sips of coffee, the occasional glance at each other.
When we're done, I take her hand and lead her to the couch. We sit facing each other, knees touching, close enough that I can see the uncertainty still lingering in her eyes.
"We need to talk about what happens next," I say.
She nods, her fingers tightening around mine. "I know."
"Last night was important. But it's not enough." I brush my thumb across her knuckles. "I need you to understand something, Hannah. This, us, it only works if you let me in."
"I know," she whispers. "I'm trying."
"I know you are." I lean forward slightly, making sure she's looking at me. "But trying isn't enough. When something's wrong, when you're struggling, you have to tell me. Not hide it. Not try to solve it alone. You have to come to me."
Her eyes fill with tears. "I didn't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden." My voice is firm. "You're my partner. And partners don't carry things alone. They share the weight."
She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I'm scared I'll mess this up."
"You won't." I cup her face, wiping the tear away with my thumb. "But even if you do, we'll figure it out. Together. That's the point."
"What if I can't do it?" Her voice breaks. "What if I'm too broken to let you in the way you need me to?"
"You're not broken." I pull her closer, my forehead resting against hers. "You're scared. There's a difference."
She closes her eyes, more tears falling. "I don't know how to do this. I've never had someone who wanted to help me."
"Then learn." I pull back just enough to look at her. "I'm not going anywhere, Hannah. But I need you to trust me. Not just with your heart, but with your problems. Your fears. Everything."
She nods, her hands gripping mine tightly. "Okay."
"Say it again."
"Okay." Louder this time. "I'll try. I'll really try."
"Good." I kiss her forehead, lingering there. "Because this will happen again. Life will get hard. You'll get scared. And when it does, I need to know you'll come to me instead of pulling away."
"I will." Her voice is steadier now. "I promise."
We sit like that for a long moment, just holding each other. The morning light streams through the windows, warming the room. Outside, the world keeps moving, but in here, it's just us.
"I need you to know something," I say finally.
She pulls back to look at me. "What?"
"I love you, Hannah."
Her breath catches. Her eyes go wide.
"I love you," I say again, slower this time. "The real you. Not some version I want you to be. I love you exactly as you are."
"Bennett, I…” Her voice cracks.
"I'm not asking you to say it back," I say quickly. "I just need you to know. I love you. And that's not going to change."
She's crying harder now, her hands coming up to cover her face. "I don't know if I'm ready."
"Then you're not ready." I pull her hands away gently, holding them in mine. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."
"But what if…”
"No what ifs." I kiss her knuckles. "I love you. Period. You don't have to say anything until you're certain."
She stares at me, tears streaming down her face, her expression a mix of disbelief and something that looks like hope. "How are you so patient with me?"
"Because you're worth it." I cup her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. "I see you, Hannah. All of you. And I'm not going anywhere."
She closes her eyes, fresh tears spilling over. "I want to believe you."
"Then believe it." I press my forehead to hers. "I'm right here."