Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I smile. “You sound fond of it.”
“The name is me, one thousand percent. The club life isn’t for everyone. But it’s everything for me. Isn’t all good, all the time.” His voice dips. “But it taught me things. Taught me who I am. More than the Marines did. Made me a better man.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push.
He glances at me, reading something in my posture. “You don’t have to tiptoe around my stories, Holley. What about you?”
The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney.
I take a breath. “Not much to tell. I’m getting through the aftermath of divorce. My marriage wasn’t abusive. Not physically. But it broke me anyway. I didn’t expect that. I thought I was stronger.”
He waits. No pressure, no impatience.
“My ex-husband loved expectations, as you saw meeting him the other night,” I share. “Loved control. Loved telling me how I should feel, think, behave. And I—” I swallow. “I spent so long bending myself into shapes that made sense to him that I forgot who I was.”
Tony’s jaw tightens. “He ever touch you in anger?”
“No. But he touched my life in every other way that mattered. I wasn’t allowed space. Or silence. Or mistakes. And when I finally broke under all the pressure he made me feel small for years. Then he cheated and told me it was my fault he stepped out.”
“Holley.” Tony’s voice softens but doesn’t pity. “No wonder you’re exhausted.”
I blink quickly, trying not to cry.
“I guess I’m just trying to rebuild and heal,” I whisper.
He shifts closer until our knees touch.
“You don’t have to be healed to be here.”
The words hit something inside me that hasn’t seen light in a long time.
But then his expression changes—slightly, subtly—and I can feel a shift coming before he speaks.
“Holley,” he starts, voice low, carefully controlled. “There’s something you should know about me. Before this goes any further. Normally, I would have this conversation before I ever touch you, but what can I say, I can’t resist you.”
My heart stutters. “Okay.”
He runs a hand over his jaw. “I don’t do monogamy.” He doesn’t hold back, soften, just puts it out there.
I blink. “You mean right now? I’m confused. I didn’t ask you for a relationship, Tony.”
“I mean ever,” he states plainly. “I won’t promise exclusivity. I have women in Salemburg. I get tested regularly, I’m clean and I had a vasectomy. I tell you this since I didn’t use a condom last night which isn’t typical of me. Something about you has me breaking all my rules. Won’t pretend I’m built for one person. Women have tried and I even tried, it just isn’t who I am. I was married. My wife tried to shape me into that, and it tore us both apart inside.”
Wife.
The word echoes, sharp and unexpectedly heavy.
“What happened?” I ask softly.
“She died,” he shares frankly like everything else. “Cancer.” He doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. “And I realized afterward, I’d spent so much of our marriage fighting being tied to expectations I couldn’t meet, I couldn’t breathe. So I rebelled. She did too. We both hurt each other immensely. But I loved her, my God I loved her. I’ll always love her. And I’ll always wish I had been up front with her. I cared for her deeply. But the version of me she wanted wasn’t who I am. Losing her taught me not to be anything less than absolutely me including the part of me that isn’t a choir boy.”
I let the words settle around us.
He lifts his eyes to mine. “I’m telling you this now because I’m not here to give false hope or play house. I don’t want you thinking I’ll become something just because you deserve someone steady. I can’t heal you, that’s work you have to do for yourself. I can have fun with you. We can enjoy one another, but I need you to know I can’t give all of me to any one person.”
I inhale a shaky breath. The strange part—the unexpected part—is that instead of feeling let down… I feel relieved. He is who he is and why do I want him to be any different? I don’t. Is it unconventional, yes, but I’m not trying to be married.
“Holley,” he says slowly, “I understand if that changes something for you.”
I shake my head, surprising even myself at how comfortable I am with this simply because he was honest. “No. It doesn’t.”
His brows pull together. “You sure?”
“I spent years wanting to be someone’s whole world,” I say. “And losing myself in the process. I’m not ready for serious. I’m not ready for expectations. I’m not ready for someone depending on me to be anything again.”
He studies me like he’s surprised. Like he didn’t expect my answer.
“It’s actually comforting,” I continue. “The idea that you’re not asking me to be perfect or healed or committed. I don’t think I could do any of that. Not right now.”