Page 16 of Escorting the Bodyguard (Hearts for Hire #4)
“Do you have any idea what it felt like when you walked away? When you left me standing there pregnant and alone?” Her voice gets louder, composure splintering.
“I had to go to my first prenatal appointment by myself, Ford. Sit in that waiting room surrounded by couples while the receptionist kept asking if my partner was running late.”
My throat closes up. I want to reach for her, but I don’t have the right.
“I had to quit my job with no savings, no plan, no support system. I had to figure out how to build a life for this baby while wondering if you’d ever even want to meet him.
Or her.” She wraps her arms around herself, the gesture protective.
“I spent weeks thinking I’d done something wrong, that maybe if I’d been different, better, you would have stayed. ”
I catch the tremor in her voice, see her hands clench at her sides.
“I let you see who I really was, Ford. I came to bed without makeup, told you about my mother, about learning that love had to be earned.” Her voice breaks on the last words.
“And then the second things got hard, you walked away. Like the real me wasn’t worth the effort. ”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. I was so trapped in my own spiral of fear and self-doubt that I never considered—never even thought about what my leaving would mean to her. How it would feel like confirmation of every terrible thing she’d been taught about herself.
“Gemma, no. You didn’t?—”
“I know that now,” she says. “But I didn’t then. Do you know what that does to someone? To be abandoned when they’re at their most vulnerable?”
The weight of what I put her through feels crushing. “What I did to you was unforgivable.”
“Well, did you at least feel better after you walked away?” The question comes out sharp, angry.
“No. I fell apart after I left you,” I say. “Started drinking. Taking every dangerous job I could find.”
She’s watching me carefully now, some of the anger fading into something that might be concern.
“Almost fled to Azerbaijan just to get as far away as possible.” I run a hand through my hair, remembering how close I came to signing that contract.
“My business partner found me drunk in my office at two in the morning, about to disappear to another continent.”
Her eyebrows lift. She uncrosses her arms but doesn’t move closer.
“He dragged me to this veteran’s support group he attends. Therapy followed from there.”
At the mention of therapy, something releases in her face.
“The more I worked through my trauma, the more I realized what I’d thrown away.” I pause, the words still hard to say. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. How you never flinched when you saw my scars.” My voice gets quieter. “You just accepted them. Accepted me.”
Her shoulders relax, and I see her swallow hard.
“You turned hiding out in a sterile safehouse into the best month I can remember.”
Her expression softens, and warmth spreads through me.
“You came to bed without makeup and let me see the real you. How brave you were to open up like that.” I meet her eyes. “It made me want to do the same.
“In therapy, I realized I was so afraid of failing you that I guaranteed it by leaving. I knew I wasn’t healed enough to talk to you yet, but I wanted you to have what you needed. That’s why I sent the fabric. I couldn’t give you me, but I could give you that.”
She nods slowly. “The fabric was beautiful. But it couldn’t replace you.”
For a beat, all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears.
Okay, Ford. Time to jump.
“I want us to try again,” I say finally. “Not just as parents, but as a couple. I know it’s going to take time to build trust, and I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. But if you’re open to it, I’d like to try.”
I’ve spent two years letting one moment in Kandahar define me. I don’t want that to be the only story anymore. I want us to write something new.
She doesn’t move any closer. Instead, she stays where she is, one hand drifting to her belly.
“How do I know you won’t panic and run the first time things get hard?” Her voice is quiet but steady. “What happens when the baby comes and you feel overwhelmed? When I’m sleep-deprived and emotional and not the polished version of myself you fell for?”
The questions hurt, but they’re justified. I gave her every reason to doubt me.
“What happens when parenthood gets messy and complicated and your trauma gets triggered again?”
I take a step toward her, needing to close some of the distance between us. “Then I’ll talk to you instead of shutting down. I’ll call my therapist, go to group, whatever it takes. But I won’t run, Gemma.”
She searches my face, and I can see her weighing my words against the memory of me walking away. We’re eye to eye now, and there’s gold threaded through her green. If I reached out, I could touch her face. “That’s easy to say now,” she says.
“You’re right. It is.” I take another careful step closer, feeling the pull between us like gravity.
“So let me be specific. I’m stepping back from active protection details to focus on running the business.
No more situations where you’d have to worry about me not coming home.
I’ll keep going to therapy twice a week for as long as it takes.
And if you’re willing, I want to come to your next doctor’s appointment.
I want to be there for everything I missed. ”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t fully relax.
“I know I have to earn your trust back,” I continue. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right now. I’m asking for a chance to prove I’ve changed. To prove I can be the partner you and our baby deserve.”
She turns away from me, walking to the window where the golden evening light catches her hair. I can see her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.
“I’m scared, Ford.” The admission comes out barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life than I was that day in Brooklyn.”
The pain in her voice nearly breaks me. “I know.”
“If I let you back in and you leave again...” She touches her belly, and I understand. It’s not just her heart at risk anymore.
“I won’t leave again,” I say, meaning every word. “I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes, but I can promise I’ll stay and work through them.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, staring out at the street. When she finally turns back to me, there’s something different in her expression. Still guarded, but with a crack of hope showing through.
“If we do this,” she says slowly, “I need complete honesty. No shutting down, no protecting me from your feelings. If you’re struggling, you tell me.”
“I will.”
“And therapy isn’t optional. For however long it takes.”
“Already committed to that.”
She takes a step back toward me, then another. “And you’ll come to the anatomy scan next week?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
She’s close enough now that I could reach for her, but I don’t.
This has to be her choice. I can feel the pull between us.
The same magnetic tension we felt every night we shared a bed, that made every casual touch electric.
She must feel it too, because her breathing has changed, become more shallow.
“I want to try too,” she says softly, and relief hits me like a physical blow. My knees go weak, and I have to steady myself against the wall. For a second, I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stare at her and feel the crushing weight of the last few weeks finally lift off my chest.
She searches my face one more time, looking for something. Whatever she finds there must satisfy her, because she closes the distance between us, her hand coming up to rest against my chest. The simple touch sends heat racing through my veins.
“I love you,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I’ve been in love with you since you fell asleep in my arms and made me want to be the kind of man who gets to keep you. I was just too scared to admit it.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but she’s smiling. “Ford...”
“I love you, Gemma. And I’m going to spend every day proving I’m worth the risk.”
When she rises up on her toes to kiss me, it’s like a dam breaking. Regret and longing and desperate hope crash together in that moment. I cradle her face in my hands, kissing her like she’s air and I’ve been drowning, like she’s the answer to every prayer I didn’t know I was making.
She melts against me, and when she sighs my name against my lips, I know we’re going to be okay.
More than okay.
We’re going to be everything.