Chapter 20
I crossed my arms over my chest, my pulse hammering beneath my skin.
“What do you want, Creed?”
He stepped forward, then stopped himself, like he was forcing restraint where instinct wanted movement. His throat worked as he swallowed.
“To tell you the truth,” he said quietly.
My chest tightened. “About what?”
“About why I left.” His voice roughened. “And why I’m here.”
I let out a slow breath. “You don’t get points for honesty after the fact.”
“I know.” His jaw flexed. “That’s not why I came.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before facing me again. The edge in his voice wasn’t anger. It was exposure.
“I’ve never been good at needing anyone,” he said. “Because the moment you do, you hand them the power to break you. And I learned early how to survive that.”
I hugged myself tighter. “You think I didn’t?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not the way I learned it.”
His gaze flicked upward, toward the ceiling. Toward my daughters sleeping down the hall. His shoulders stiffened.
“When Morgan asked if I was going to be her new daddy...” His voice stalled. He inhaled sharply. “It felt like something snapped open in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. All I could think was—I don’t know how to be that man.”
Pain twisted through me. I turned away before he could see it, crossed the room, and sank onto the sofa. I reached for my cup of tea, needing the anchor.
Creed didn’t follow. He stayed where he was.
“You were right,” he said. “I don’t know how to accept love without turning it into something sharp. Something transactional. My parents taught me that affection always came with a cost.”
I stayed quiet. Let him talk.
“I decided a long time ago that love was just another way to bleed.” His eyes found mine, raw and unguarded. “And I refused to love like that.”
My throat closed.
“That’s why I left,” he said. “Because when she asked me that question, I realized I didn’t trust myself not to fail her. Or you.”
“So, you ran,” I said.
“Yes.” He didn’t flinch. “And I hated myself for it.”
I set the mug down carefully and rose. “Then why are you here now?”
He crossed the room slowly, deliberately, like he was choosing every step.
“Because I couldn’t live with that version of myself,” he said. “And because I finally stopped pretending I could fix this alone.”
I looked up, startled. “What does that mean?”
“It means I asked for help.” His voice dropped. “Real help.”
The word landed heavier than I expected.
“I started therapy,” he said. “Because I don’t want to keep destroying the things I want most.”
My pulse thundered. “Because of me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “Because of you. And because of them.”
His hands slid to my waist, then settled there lightly. Not claiming. Anchoring.
“I want to learn how to stay,” he said. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just when I’m in control.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“I can’t promise I won’t mess up,” he continued. “But I can promise I won’t disappear again. I’ll talk. I’ll show up. I’ll fight instead of fleeing.”
My hands pressed to his chest, feeling the hard, unsteady beat beneath my palms.
“And I’m not asking you to need me,” he said softly. “I’m asking if you still want me.”
I closed my eyes. “You hurt me.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed my jaw. “And I don’t get to erase that.”
“You don’t get to come back and say the right things now,” I whispered. “Not without proof.”
“I’m not asking you to believe me tonight,” he said. “Just let me start showing you.”
My breath shuddered.
“I’m done being afraid of how much you fucking matter to me,” he said. “I’m done pretending I don’t want this.”
I opened my eyes. “I want more than passion. More than protection.”
“So do I.” His gaze held mine. “I want a life.”
Silence stretched between us. Thick. Fragile.
Then I nodded.
“Yes,” I whispered.
I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
Creed didn’t rush it. Didn’t take. When his hands slid to my waist, they were steady. Certain. He held me like the moment mattered, like restraint was part of the promise.
My lips parted against him. His tongue swept into my mouth, and heat surged low in my belly. He kissed me like he’d spent months dreaming about this moment. Like he’d been waiting for it as long as I had.
When I pulled back, breathless, I pressed my forehead to his chest.
“I’m not asking for perfect,” I said. “But don’t run.”
His hand slid up my spine, his touch steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I leaned back just enough to meet his eyes. “Prove it.”
His mouth curved—not smug. Determined. “I plan to.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, like intention instead of hunger.
And for the first time since Christmas morning, I let myself believe staying was possible.
* * *
THE NEXT FEW WEEKS were complicated.
The anonymous phone calls stopped. I didn’t know whether that meant the danger had passed or simply gone dormant, but I accepted the quiet with cautious gratitude. I never logged back into the account. Part of me didn’t want to confirm the truth again. Some things, once seen, couldn’t be unseen.
With the immediate threat receding, slipping back into Creed’s life should have been easy. He was Creed Kirkland, after all. Dominant. Controlling. A force that bent rooms to his will.
But this time was different.
Because he was trying.
And that terrified me more than if he hadn’t.
At work, he reentered my life without spectacle. He reclaimed boardrooms and commanded meetings with the same lethal precision as always, but with me, the dynamic had shifted. He didn’t loom. He didn’t override. He listened.
He still carried authority in his posture, in the way executives straightened when he entered a room. But when his gaze landed on me, it softened. Not weak. Intentional.
It made my chest ache.
Professionally, nothing had changed. We still ran the magazine together. My office remained down the hall from his. Meetings stayed sharp, disagreements still sparked.
Only now, there were... moments.
I’d catch him watching me during meetings, his attention locked in when I spoke. When I finished a point, his mouth would twitch like he was fighting a smile. Sometimes his hand brushed mine when passing a file, his fingers lingering just long enough to remind me he was aware.
It was maddening.
One afternoon, I was reviewing contracts when he walked into my office without knocking. His tie was loose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fatigue etched into the tightness of his jaw.
“You’re late,” I said without looking up.
“Traffic,” he replied. “And a headache.”
I glanced up. His hair was mussed, his eyes shadowed.
“Sit,” I said. “I’ll summarize.”
He settled into the chair across from me. I began outlining the key points, but after a minute, I stopped.
“Creed.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re not listening.”
He didn’t deny it. “No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I needed to see you.”
My pulse stumbled. His gaze moved over me slowly before returning to my eyes.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered.
His mouth curved faintly. “So, I’ve been told.”
Personally, things were harder.
Creed didn’t push. That was the unnerving part. The old Creed would have stormed into my life and taken what he wanted. This one held back. He asked. He waited.
It made every instinct I had want to test him.
Valentine’s Day arrived without fanfare.
No red roses. No grand gestures. No declarations whispered into the dark.
Creed picked me up just after seven, dressed in a charcoal coat and a crisp white shirt, no tie. Intentional. Controlled. The kind of restraint that made my pulse kick up before I even got into the car.
Dinner was at a small Italian place tucked between a bookstore and a wine shop, the kind of place that didn’t advertise itself. Candlelight pooled across linen-covered tables. The air smelled like garlic and basil and something warm enough to soften the edges of the day.
Nothing extravagant.
Which somehow made it worse.
He ordered for me the way he always had, but this time, he asked first. Waited for my nod. For my consent.
We talked easily. About work. About Morgan’s insistence that ballet shoes should be worn everywhere. About Michelle’s refusal to eat anything green unless it was dyed with enough cheese to disguise it.
Normal things.
Safe things.
And I could feel the effort it took for him not to push past that line.
Halfway through dinner, after the plates had been cleared and the wine had breathed long enough to taste dangerous, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and set something small on the table between us.
A simple box. Matte black. No ribbon.
My breath caught.
“What’s that?” I asked carefully.
“Open it.”
I hesitated, then did.
Inside was a thin gold chain. No diamonds. No excess. Just a small, oval locket—polished, understated, impossibly intimate.
My throat tightened.
“It opens,” he said quietly.
I flipped it open. Inside were two tiny engravings. Initials.
M and M.
My chest squeezed painfully.
“I didn’t want something insignificant,” he continued. “Or permanent in a way that traps you.” His gaze held mine, steady and unflinching. “I wanted something you could choose to wear. Or not.”
I closed the locket slowly.
“Creed...” My voice wavered.
“I’m not asking for anything tonight,” he said. “This isn’t pressure. It’s acknowledgment.”
The word settled between us.
I set the box down, my fingers brushing his as I did. The contact sent a sharp awareness up my arm.
“I like this,” he said then, covering my hand with his.
“The food?” I managed.
He almost smiled.
“Us,” he said. “Like this. Quiet. No chasing. No running.”
“It’s temporary,” I said, even as my thumb brushed the edge of his knuckle.
His gaze darkened—not with anger, but with something deeper. Something searching.
“Is it?”
I pulled my hand back, my chest tight with wanting, fear, hope—too much tangled together to name.
The locket sat between us, catching the candlelight.
Not a promise.
Not a claim.
And that somehow scared me more than anything he’d ever done before.
A week later, Morgan had her ballet recital.
Creed showed up without being asked.
He slipped into the seat beside me just as the lights dimmed. Morgan’s face lit up when she saw him. Afterward, she ran into his arms, and he crouched to her level, his hands steady on her shoulders.
“You were incredible,” he told her.
Morgan’s face lit up. “Did you see when I almost fell?”
He smiled. “You recovered like a pro.”
She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. My chest squeezed painfully.
When Morgan skipped off to join the other girls, Creed straightened. Our eyes met.
“You didn’t have to come,” I said.
His gaze sharpened. “I wanted to.”
“She’s getting attached.”
Creed nodded. “I know.”
“She’ll expect you to stay.”
“I plan to.”
He stepped closer, his body brushing against mine in the crowded hallway.
My breath hitched.
“Are you?” I whispered.
His mouth brushed my temple. “Watch me.”
Nights were harder.
He never stayed.
After dinner, after walks through my neighborhood where he held my hand like it belonged there, he kissed me at the door and left.
It drove me insane.
One night, after the girls were asleep, I opened the door to find him there. Suit rumpled. Tie gone. Eyes dark.
“I couldn’t stay away,” he said.
“You promised me time.”
“I’m trying,” he said. “But I don’t want to lie about wanting you.”
“You’re dangerous,” I whispered.
He smiled faintly. “You already knew that.”
Creed kissed me hard, then stopped himself. Rested his forehead against mine.
“I’m not taking more than you’re ready to give,” he said.
His mouth was rough, his hands sure as they slid up my sides.
I gasped against his mouth. He pulled back, his eyes dark and dangerous.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
My chest squeezed.
Weeks passed in a blur.
Creed showed up—at work, at home, at the girls’ school events. He was consistent. Steady. Present.
He didn’t try to take over my life. He slipped into it, becoming a quiet presence in the background. Picking up coffee when he knew I had early meetings. Bringing Morgan’s favorite snack when he came over for dinner.
One night, I found him sitting on the floor in the twins’ room, helping them put together a puzzle. Michelle was curled up next to him, half-asleep.
My heart cracked open.
He looked up, his gaze catching mine across the room.
“What?” he asked softly.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was everything.
He was staying.
I was starting to believe it... again.