21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Sam

I padded softly across the cool tile floor, my bare feet whispering against the surface. The sun blanketed the living room in a warm glow, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out like hopeful fingers trying to bridge the space between Ava and me.

She was still curled up on the couch, her petite frame dwarfed by the cushions, brown hair fanned out like a halo in the morning light. I watched her for a moment, the rise and fall of her breath so steady and calm despite the storm we'd weathered.

"Love is freedom," I whispered, a mantra against the tightness that had coiled inside my chest. I saw the way my love had become a shackle, my fear twisting it into something unrecognizable.

My heart ached as I knelt beside her, close enough to touch but not daring to break the fragile peace. Ava was the woman who had given me her heart, who saw beyond the walls I'd built, and I had let my insecurities tarnish that trust.

"Hey," I murmured when she stirred, her eyes fluttering open, meeting mine with a wariness that struck deep.

"Sam?" Ava's voice was thick with sleep, laced with the remnants of last night's pain.

"I've been thinking," I started, the words coming slow, heavy with the weight of self-discovery. "About me, about us. I realize... I've been holding on too tightly. I'm scared, Ava. So scared of losing you. But I see now that what I'm doing could push you away forever."

Ava sat up, tucking her legs beneath her, and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She looked at me, really looked, and I knew this was the moment that would define us.

"Sam, I love you," she said, her voice steadier than I felt. "But I can't be caged. I need to breathe, to be my own person. We both do."

"Can you forgive me?" My voice broke, vulnerability taking hold. "I don't want to be the reason you hide your wings. I don't want to be why you can't fly."

"Forgiveness isn't the issue," she replied, the edge of hurt still present in her eyes. "It's whether we can grow from this, whether you can truly let go and trust me. You want me to stay locked up in this penthouse like a prisoner. I work all day alone. You come home and just want to have sex. We never go out anymore. I don't want to live a lonely life," she cried.

Is that how she really felt?

"I don't want you to feel like you are alone. More than anything, I want to make you happy." I reached out, halting inches from her hand, giving her the choice to close the distance. When her fingers tentatively met mine, warmth spread through me, mingling with a flicker of hope.

"Then we try," Ava said, squeezing my hand. "We work on this together. But Sam, you promise me—no more chains, okay?"

"Okay," I promised, feeling the sincerity of my words. "No more chains. Just us, learning how to love without limits."

Ava leaned into me then, and I wrapped my arms around her, careful not to hold too tight. In that embrace, nestled in the promise of a new day, we found our reconciliation. And with it, the first step toward a future where we could both soar.

The morning sun spilled through the open balcony door, casting a warm glow over the disarray of our Miami apartment. Ava was out there, leaning on the railing with her brown hair kissed by the light, looking out over the sea that stretched beyond our new beginning. Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside and joined her, my presence a silent question hanging between us.

"Sam," she began, not turning to face me but speaking to the horizon, "we need to talk about boundaries."

I nodded, my heart thumping in a nervous rhythm. "I agree. I've been thinking a lot about it."

"Thinking, or obsessing?" she teased softly, finally glancing my way with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Bit of both," I admitted. "I don't want to be that person anymore, the one who suffocates us with worry and control. I want us to trust each other."

"Trust isn't just about letting go," Ava said, her voice steady. "It's also about knowing you can rely on someone to respect your space, your choices."

Her words stung with truth. "So, what does that look like for us?" I asked, bracing myself for her answer.

"Communication, for starters. Being honest about what we need from each other and this relationship," she explained. "And understanding that independence doesn't mean indifference. I love you, Sam, but I also love my own company, my work, and my friends."

"Right." The word was a small surrender, an acknowledgment of the vast terrain we needed to navigate together. "Maybe we could set some guidelines? Like, designated alone time, no questions asked?"

It was crazy to think that I thought Ben coming to Miami would have been a problem for us, but it turns out I am the real problem in our relationship. Admitting that sucks, but I know that my obsession with Ava is tearing us apart.

"That sounds fair," Ava agreed, finally turning to face me fully. "But it also means being okay with not knowing every little detail. Can you handle that?"

I wanted to say yes with all the certainty in the world, but honesty was our new foundation. "I'll try my best. It's going to take practice."

"Which is why I think we should start something new together," she suggested, her eyes brightening with hope. "A shared hobby, maybe? Something fun, stress-free, where we're equals."

"Like couples therapy?" I offered, half-joking, half-serious.

"Or salsa dancing," Ava countered with a genuine laugh. "You know, Miami style."

"Okay, but only if you promise not to laugh at my two left feet." My attempt at levity eased the tension, and her laughter was a melody that soothed my lingering fears.

"Deal. But seriously, Sam, I do think we could benefit from talking to someone. A professional could help us untangle these knots without getting lost in them."

"Therapy," I repeated, the word feeling like a key unlocking doors I'd once thought impenetrable. "Yeah. Yeah, let's do that. Together."

"Good." She reached for my hand; her touch lighter than air but grounding all the same. "We're rebuilding, brick by brick, Sam. And I believe in us."

"Me, too," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. We stood there, hands entwined, watching the waves roll in—a visual ebb and flow of our journey. It was a start, shaky and uncertain, but a start, nonetheless. Together we would learn this dance of give-and-take, leading and following, spinning into a future where trust was our rhythm and love our constant melody.