Phantom (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} mcr_) wrote, |
He hated how familiar her sadness had become. Hated that it had taken this long for him to really hear it. “I know,” he said softly.
He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, hands clasped tight—knuckles white. The calm, composed Navy pilot thing? Gone. He looked like a man finally owning the mess he helped make.
“You’re right. About all of it. I should’ve handled it differently. The trips. The silence. The PR shit.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “I let them spin a story I didn’t shut down. And you got caught in the crossfire. Again. He looked over at her, not flinching from the weight in her eyes.
“There’s not a part of me that wants out of this,” he said. “And yeah—there are gonna be lines. I’ll draw them with you. Not after the fact. Not when it’s too late. But now.” He leaned back, glancing up at the stars for a second before meeting her gaze again.
“I don’t want our kids confused. I don’t want you confused. And I sure as hell don’t want to be the guy who makes the woman he loves question where she stands.” There was a pause.
“I’ll handle the rumors. I’ll talk to the studio, the publicist, whoever I need to. And next time something like this starts—I shut it down. Publicly. First thing.”
He reached out gently, resting his hand against the edge of her foot where it peeked out from the blanket.
“I don’t want to just say the right things anymore, Mya. I want to do them.” His voice softened, the fight dropping to something tender. Honest.
“I love you. I still see you. Even when I’ve been too wrapped up in everything else to act like it. And I’m sorry.”