Chapter 27 #5
“I’m not a good man,” he says suddenly. “You know that, right? I’ve done things. I’ve hurt people. I’ve been the monster under someone else’s bed. I’ve been the man who makes other men warn their daughters to stay inside. I don’t want that darkness anywhere near you.”
I lean in, voice firm. “Tiny. You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” I say. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. You do not get to look at me like I’m fragile while you carry everything alone.”
Tiny’s breathing turns uneven. I press my forehead to his. “You are not protecting me by shutting me out,” I whisper. “You’re punishing yourself. And I’m not going to let you do that anymore.”
Tiny’s eyes close. A tear slips free. The sight of it feels like my heart is cracking. Tiny doesn’t cry. He turns his face slightly, ashamed.
I cup his face tighter and pull him back to me. “Look at me,” I demand softly.
He does.
“You are not your worst day,” I tell him. “You are not your worst choice. You are not the things you did while you were surviving. You are who you are right now, and right now you are the man who held me while I shook and never made me feel like a burden.”
Tiny’s throat bobs.
“You’re the man who sat with me on the bathroom floor when I was sick and didn’t look disgusted,” I continue, my voice thick. “You’re the man who kept water by my bed, who stayed sober with me when I needed stability, and who didn’t take advantage of my weakness.”
His eyes burn, wet and open.
“You’re the man who looked at me like I was worth gentleness,” I whisper. “No one ever did that before you.”
Tiny’s breath breaks, and he pulls me into him. His arms lock around me like a cage, but it doesn’t feel like imprisonment. It feels like a man hanging on for dear life.
I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him. Tiny buries his face in my shoulder. His body shakes with emotion he has kept inside for too long.
Tiny pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes devastated. “I love you,” he says, as if it’s a confession.
I smile through tears. “I love you, too.” I whisper against his lips, “I’ve been taken from myself a hundred times.
I’ve been reduced to pain. I’ve been made into a thing, not a person.
But you gave me myself back. You didn’t save me.
You didn’t swoop in to fix me or make me dependent on you.
You stood beside me and said, ‘Here. Take your power back.’ You reminded me I get to choose. ”
Tiny’s breath shudders.
“So when I say I’m not leaving, I mean it.
I’m not running. I’m not hiding. I’m not drowning to escape the past.” I touch his face, making him look at me.
“I’m here. I’m present. I’m yours in the only way that matters.
I choose you. Every day. Even when you’re scared.
Even when you’re angry. Even when you go quiet. I will choose you.”
Tiny’s eyes close, and another tear slips free. He kisses my palm, then presses my hand to his mouth like he is praying into it. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.
I lean closer, eyes locked on his. “I’m not a prize you didn’t earn.
I’m not a miracle you stole. I am a woman who survived hell and still chose love anyway.
You do not get to disrespect my choice by pretending you’re unworthy,” I whisper.
“I’m not stupid. I’m not naive. I see all of you.
And I still want you,” I finish softly. “I still love you.”
Tiny’s mouth crashes into mine, the kiss breaking open something deep and desperate yet tender.
His hand slides into my hair, holding me close.
My body responds immediately, heat building again, not because I need more pleasure but because I need to feel him.
I need to seal this. I need him to understand I am not afraid of the intensity.
I want it. I want him.
Tiny pulls back just enough to breathe. His forehead touches mine. “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life proving it,” he whispers. “Proving I can be the man you deserve.”
I smile. “Then start now.”
Tiny’s eyes darken again, hunger returning, but it is softer this time. Deeper. Emotional.
He rolls me beneath him slowly, careful not to squish Peanut, who promptly abandons his stomach with an offended meow and leaps to the pillow like she is supervising.
Tiny’s mouth moves down my throat, kisses trailing like promises. “You’re my wife,” he murmurs against my skin.
I thread my fingers through his hair. “And you’re my husband.”
Tiny groans, and the sound alone makes my stomach clench with need.
He looks up at me, expression full of love so intense it almost hurts. “Tell me what you want,” he says.
I pull him down into a kiss, slow and filthy and full of devotion. “I want you to love me,” I whisper. “I want you to take me again like a vow. I want you to remind me that this is real.”
Tiny’s eyes blaze. “Yes,” he rasps. “God, yes.”
When he moves with me again, it’s devotion turned into rhythm. It’s love spoken in the only language his body has ever trusted completely.
He holds me like a promise. He loves me like he’s finally allowed to keep something good. And I give myself to him with no fear, only choice.
Only love.
Only home.