Page 170 of His Surrender

When he speaks again, his voice breaks. “Because tonight nearly destroyed me.”

My heart sinks. I move closer, but he shakes his head.

“I stood in this apartment and imagined every possible way you could have died.” His breathing becomes uneven again. “I called hospitals in my head before I could make myself pick up the phone. I saw the police at the door. I saw my father falling apart.”

His eyes meet mine. “I became him.”

“You had a panic response.”

“I lost control,” he replies.

“You were afraid.”

“What happens the next time you’re late?” The question comes harshly, but his face crumples around it.

“What happens every time you leave this apartment and don’t answer immediately? Am I going to do this to you again? Make you feel guilty for having a dead phone? Make you report every movement because I can’t handle not knowing where you are?”

“You haven’t asked me to do that.”

“Not yet.”

The words whisper through the room.

I stare at him. For the first time, I see the direction his fear is taking him.

Not toward anger, but toward retreat.

“You think you need to end us to protect me from this.”

His silence answers for him. Pain wraps around my ribs.

I force myself to breathe through it.

“Dean, loving me is not something you have to protect me from.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you,” I answer, slightly louder than before.

“You know the version of me who believed he had this under control.” He looks away. “I don’t know this man.”

“You didn’t fail tonight, Dean. Something inside you got triggered.”

“That isn’t your burden to carry.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

I move closer slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, but he doesn’t.

“I want to be here for you.” The words make his eyes close. I touch his arms. “I want to help you through this.”

“You can’t fix it.”

“I know.”

That answer surprises him enough that he looks at me again.

“I am not trying to fix you. I am trying to love you.”