Chapter 54 I'll take care of it
RYAN'S POV
You will never again be loved in exactly the same way twice. Every love has its own texture, its own specific weight and scent, like a thumbprint pressed into the soul.
Earlier, when I asked Michael if he’d ever been in love, what I really wanted to ask was if he’d ever been loved. The true kind. The honest kind. The kind you apparently only get to experience once in a lifetime, the one that anchors you to the earth. There are probably people who have been loved a dozen times over....
I changed the question at the last second. I was sure his answer would be a confident yes, or some noble, sweeping variation of it. He carries himself with a magnetic, effortless charm that must have pulled people into his orbit long before I ever stumbled into it. Michael has known what it feels like to be someone's center, even if he claims he’s never returned the favor.
But me? I’ve never experienced either side of the coin.
There’s a quiet sadness in that realization. There are versions of me....the younger, hopeful ones, that will never be loved because they no longer exist. I can't go back and give them what they needed. Those versions are gone, and they died without ever knowing that feeling.
On the television, an old episode of Survivor plays, the flickering blue light washing over the room, but the sound is just a low hum in the background. I’m still lying in Michael's lap because it feels better than anything I can remember. It feels safe. In this small, hushed space, it feels awfully ordinary.....the way his hand moves, the way he breathes. But I know it isn't ordinary. Not to me.
I shift, slowly rolling onto my back so I can look up at him. His gaze darts down from the screen, catching mine, and his expression softens immediately. He gives me a smile, something so heartbreakingly sweet it makes my throat tight. It’s the kind of look that makes you believe in things you have no business believing in.
His fingers return to my hairline, tracing the curve of my forehead with overwhelming tenderness. I watch the way the light catches the sharp line of his jaw and the depth of his blue eyes.
I reach up, the tips of my fingers grazing the edge of his jaw, light as a ghost. It’s a careful, wondering touch, but the moment I try to pull back, Michael moves. His hand catches mine and guides it back toward him. He presses a slow, lingering kiss to the center of my open palm. The sensation is electric, a direct wire to the hollow of my chest that makes my breath hitch.
"You feeling okay?" he asks, his voice dropping into that low, grounding register.
I nod, my throat too tight for words as I force my gaze back toward the television.
"You know," Michael says suddenly, "I’m pretty sure I’d win if I ever went on this. Total sweep. I should probably audition for the next season."
I cut my eyes toward him, unable to stop the look of sheer, flat judgment that takes over my face. "You wouldn’t survive three days."
"Ouch." He clutches his chest with his free hand, looking mock-offended. "Where's the faith? I’m resourceful. I’m charming. I can build a fire.... probably. It’s basically just camping, Ryan, only with more cameras and backstabbing drama."
I let out a small, tired huff of a laugh. "I’m going to pretend I didn't hear you compare a survival show to a weekend in the woods. You’d be begging for a five-star hotel by the first sunset."
"Please," he says, gesturing grandly toward the screen where the sun is setting over a turquoise horizon. "Just look at that. You can survive absolutely anything when you’ve got a view like that. It’s a vacation with a prize at the end."
I turn my head further on his lap, looking up at him with one eyebrow raised. "Have we been watching the same show? The waves from that beach literally tried to kill them last night. One guy almost lost a toe to a rock."
"A minor detail," he says, his eyes dancing with a light that makes the heavy thoughts from earlier feel miles away. "I have excellent balance. And besides, I’d have the 'lovable rogue' edit. The audience would riot if the ocean took me out."
I shake my head, a genuine smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "The ocean wouldn't care about your edit, Michael."
"Maybe not," he murmurs, his fingers shifting from my palm to tangle back into my hair. "But as long as I have someone back home worth winning for, I think I’d manage."
Something unnamed lodges in my chest....
We watch in silence for a while longer. The flickering images of palm trees and white sand feel like a fever dream compared to the stillness of this room.
"Do you go on vacations?" I ask, my voice sounding small.
"I’ve traveled to a few places," he says. "I made a bucket list back in college and actually managed to cross all of it off. But I haven't really been in an adventurous mood for the past several months."
I nod slowly against his leg. "I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii."
"Hawaii?" he repeats, his tone softening.
"There was a school trip when I was in high school. For four days. But the parents had to pay, and it was... it was a bit pricey. My mom asked me if I wanted to go." I pause, the memory of her standing in our kitchen with that hopeful, worried look on her face surfacing. "I told her no."
"Because of the money?"
I shrug, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Partly. But mostly because I was scared I’d just feel left out. I wasn't exactly the social type. Whenever I closed my eyes, I just pictured myself standing off to the side while everyone else was having the time of their lives. Wanting to be involved, but not having the first clue how to bridge the gap."
I feel him shift, his hand going still for a second.
"I started saving for it once I got a job," I continue, the words coming easier now. "I told myself I’d eventually go. But there’s always been an excuse. Work, timing... Company."
"Do you still want to go?" Michael asks.
I frown, the question catching me off guard .A joke starts to form on my tongue, something deflective about whether he’s suggesting we leave for the airport right this second. But the words die before I can speak them.
We have a pact now. No more dancing around the truth, no more hiding behind the safety of "maybe" or "eventually." And a question like this, from a man like Michael, is as simple as it is heavy. It’s a binary choice.
"Yes," I say, the word coming out clearer than I expected. "I’d really like to go."
I pause, my heart hammering. I look up at him, making sure he sees everything I’m too afraid to put into a full sentence. "Not alone, though."
I let the silence hang there, a hand reached out in the dark. I’m not that boy standing off to the side anymore, watching the world happen to everyone else. I’m here, in this room, and I’m asking him to be the bridge.
Michael’s expression doesn't flicker with doubt. He doesn't offer a "we'll see" or a "someday when things are better." He just smiles, that steady tilt of his lips that makes my pulse spike for an entirely different reason than before. He gives me a curt nod, his thumb grazing my temple.
“Then we'll go,” he says, his voice like a vow. “I’ll take care of it.”
I close my eyes, leaning into the warmth of his lap again.