Page 9 of My Ex-Military Biker

"I didn't even notice I was doing it until I was standing at that altar and realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd said no to him about anything. Couldn't remember the last time I'd wanted something that wasn't on his calendar first. Couldn't remember who I was before I started shaping myself around what he needed."

"That's not love," Tate says. His voice is quiet but absolutely certain. "That's disappearing."

The words hit me like cold water. Sharp. Clarifying.

"I didn't think of it that way," I admit. "I thought I was being a good partner. Being supportive. Being flexible. But you're right. I was disappearing. Piece by piece. And I didn't even notice until there was almost nothing left."

"Is that why you left? Because you noticed?"

"Part of it. The other part was realizing I didn't even know if I loved him. How could I? I didn't know who I was anymore without him telling me who to be."

Tate stands. The movement brings him closer to me in the small space, close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact.

"You know who you are now?" he asks.

"No," I admit. The honesty feels dangerous and necessary at the same time. "But at least now I'm trying to figure it out for myself instead of letting someone else decide for me."

He nods once, like this makes perfect sense to him. Like choosing not to know is better than pretending to know something that isn't true.

"That's why you stopped," I say, understanding clicking into place. "On the road today. Not just because you're a medic and saw someone who might be hurt. Because you saw someone who was alone and you know what that costs."

"Everyone knows what alone costs."

"No, they don't. Most people have never been alone in the way that actually matters. Never had to choose between disappearing into someone else's life or being completely by yourself. Most people get to exist somewhere in between."

He looks at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he says, "You're not by yourself now."

"I know."

"And I'm not asking you to disappear."

"I know that too," I say quietly. "That's why I'm still here."

Our eyes meet and hold.

His eyes are dark. Not just brown. Dark in a way that makes it hard to see where the pupil ends and the iris begins. He's looking at me like I'm a problem with variables he hasn't solved yet.

I should look away, but I don't.

I just stand there between his knees, my hands still on his skin, looking at him looking at me.

Heat floods my body so fast I feel dizzy. Low in my belly. Between my legs.

I'm wet, which has never happened from just looking at someone before.

No one's ever looked at me like that.

My thighs press together involuntarily.

He notices. I see his eyes flick down for half a second, then back to my face.

I should be scared. Should be uncertain. I'm in a stranger's house wearing a wedding dress, standing between his knees in a bathroom that's too small, looking at a man I've known for less than two hours who's looking at me like he's hungry.

I'm not scared.

I break eye contact first. Have to. If I don't, I'm going to do something I haven't thought through.

I step back. Put space between us. Turn to wash my hands again even though they're already clean.