I wait for two weeks. Not a word from him. He doesn't come to the bar. He doesn't call me at home. He showed up at my door apologetic after I got him back home safely when I hardly knew his full name. Now after I've bared my soul and body to him, he doesn't have anything to say? And I'm sick of it. How many times have I reached out to him after a fight? How many times did I have to swallow my pride and apologize? Not this time. Not after what he did. If he wants to fight like that, he'll need to fight to get me back.

So when I don't hear from him, I guess that means there's nothing left in our relationship to fight for. I'm still angry enough that I don't feel the sadness about the loss of the relationship. Just angry about the hurtful things he said and how he dared to treat me. With my anger as armor, I think I'm strong enough to get my stuff back.

I pick a night that my mom is working late and then call his home line. It rings four times before he answers. I can tell by his slurred hello that he's intoxicated. Maybe I should call back later.

"Who is this?" he asks angrily.

That tone sparks my own anger, and I find my voice. "Tricia." I relish in the shocked silence on the line. "I left some clothes at your place. I need to pick them up. Is it okay if I come by tomorrow while you're at work?"

Silence on the line. "Tricia," he starts. His voice is soft, almost a plea.

I wait. He doesn't say anything else. He's going to have to do a hell of a lot more than that.

"What?" I ask, trying to keep my tone as free of malice as I can.

"I'm sorry," he answers.

"Me too," I reply curtly.

I wait for him to say more, to bare his soul to me and beg for forgiveness. The silence stretches on.

"Did you go see your dad?"

It hurts to talk with him like normal. Like our fight didn't happen. It did happen. And he's done nothing to make up for it. But for the sake of everything he meant to me, I answer. "Yeah, it went as well as I could have hoped."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

He does sound truly sorry. I swallow my urge to accept that tiny olive branch.

"So, is it okay if I come by? I can drop your key off at the same time."

"I don't want my key back." Did I hear his voice catch?

"I mean, I don't think it makes sense for me to have it."

"I'd like it to make sense for you to have it. I understand if you've decided this is the end, but...Tricia, I'm really sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt."

"I know." My complete certainty in that is the only reason I didn't file charges. Though it's still good to hear him say it.

"Look, my therapist says that I should be more open." Therapist? Wow, that's new. "I understand if you never want to see me again, but I hate how I behaved that night. I wasn't...in a good place, and I said a lot of things I didn't mean. ...I'd like to apologize to you in person. If you're willing to see me."

I take a deep breath. I should say no. I should refuse to see him. I know if I'm around him, I risk my resolve weakening. Hearing his baritone voice sends a pang of yearning through me. The longing to be in his arms that I was repressing for weeks is starting to bubble up. And I can hear genuine agony in his voice.

"Okay."

"Come by around 6?"

"I'll see you then." I hang up before I can say anything else and risk outpouring all of my sadness and hurt.

We're just going to talk. I can trust myself to maintain my resolve long enough not to fall back into bed with him. Granted, the term break up sex exists for a reason. But I won't walk into that trap. Hopper could make me forgive any number of sins with his lovemaking. If we're going to stay together, and that's a big if, it needs to be for more than just his ability to pleasure me.

On the drive over, I am of two minds. My gut sinks with dread in anticipation of seeing him. But my heart is fluttering rebelliously. I can't deny the connection Hopper and I had. I care for him, maybe more than anyone else in my life. But I can't keep coming back to him if he ices me out after a fight. If he won't open himself up to rejection enough to even reach out and check on me.

I use his key to enter, feeling sadness creep into my heart. I don't want this to be the last time I'm here. I don't want to take the beloved key off my keyring. I'm starting to picture what my life would be like without Hopper in it, and I don't like it.

"Hello?" I call.

The lights turn on, and I'm struck by how clean the place looks. And my heart skips a beat when I lock eyes with Hopper, standing at the other end of the room with a boquet of roses in one hand. He's in a button-down shirt and slacks, freshly shaved.

"Hi."

I walk towards him, feeling like I am pulled by a force outside of myself. I want to be close to him.

"You look nice," I can't help but smile. "But Jim, you didn't have to do this. Our fight...to me, at least, it wasn't about how you dress or how 'cleaned up' you are. I really, truly do not care about those things."

"I know that. I knew that even when I was unfairly accusing you otherwise. But I also wanted to show you, and myself, that I can play the part of the good guy."

"It's not a part you're playing. You are a good guy. I wouldn't like you if you weren't. I want you to love me and support me, and yes, as part of how you show your love for me, I want you to take care of yourself. Because I want to be with you for a long time. But I can't do that if you're not here."

And then tears are falling from my eyes, and he pulls me into his arms. I wrap my arms around him and nuzzle against his chest, breathing in his masculine scent that I missed so much. I can't get too comfortable though. I can't fall back into his arms. I take a step back out of his embrace.

"I have something for you."

"You didn't have to get me anything," I say to the floor. "The flowers are lovely though."

"Not just the flowers. Wait here."

I wait, bouncing from foot to foot uncertainly. He must know he can't buy my affection, so I don't understand why he's giving me gifts, or what this mysterious gift could be. He comes back into the room holding what is unmistakably a ring box. My jaw drops and my breathing gets shallow.

"There's no strings attached to this. I just wanted you to have it. You are one of the best things to ever happen to me. And even if you never want to hear from me again, I hope you will at least look back on these months fondly."

"Jim, I don't understand." I stay still, terrified that if I open the box, I will feel obligated to repair things for the sake of doing so.

"You deserve nice things. You deserve to be cared for and pampered, and I want to treat you right. I want to help put more beauty into your life. Please, if you don't like it, you don't have to keep it."

Heart in my throat, I take the box from him and slowly open it. My jaw drops. It's even more beautiful than I could have imagined. The gold band and the intricate intertwined pattern works perfectly with my grandmother's ring. It's studded with three diamonds, three rubies, and three sapphires. I don't want to know how much this cost. And it fits so perfectly with my style that it almost seems custom made.

"It's absolutely beautiful. You don't have to do this."

"I know. Do you like it?"

"Yes, of course. Jim," I look at him, tears welling in my eyes again, "I know you love me. That was never in doubt."

"Then...why are you still so distant from me? What can I do, what do you need me to do to repair what I broke? You are precious to me, and I don't want to lose you."

"I...I don't know, exactly. That's what's tough. If you tell me that you didn't mean what you said, the different things you accused me of that night, I'll believe you."

"I didn't mean them. I swear to you! This past couple of weeks I've been seeing a therapist for the first time in...pretty much ever. And he's been helping me see that a lot of the things I was afraid of, like our relationship falling apart, I manifest myself so that I can feel in control of the outcome. If I'm certain things will fail, I can at least control the timing of that failure. And Tricia, you're so perfect, I just...I'm so worried that things can't work out between us. I'm terrified I'm going to lose you because I'm damaged."

I reach my hand out to grab his. "I don't know how I can impress upon you that I love you for you." I sigh and place the ring box on his table. "Look, while I'm mad about the fight, of course, I'm far more upset that you didn't reach out to me afterwards! It's been two weeks, and I had to call you. Again. I'm always the one who has to call!"

He looks at me truly dumbfounded.

"What?" I bark.

"You...you said to leave you alone. I thought that you wanted space."

"What do you mean?"

"When you left, you told me to leave you alone."

I sink on to the couch. I didn't even remember saying that. Is that really why Hopper hadn't reached out? Then I can't exactly consider this a repeat of the dreaded pattern of him not reaching out.

"I was trying to give you space. I assumed that when you felt ready, when you felt safe, you would reach out again. I dialed your number at least once every day, but I told myself I shouldn't pressure you to contact me. When you called, implying we were over... I have been absolutely lost since then. I... Please, Tricia. I love you. Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how much you mean to me."

I look into his soulful eyes, clouded with sorrow and pain, and I bite my lip. I want more than anything to take that pain away from him and to put this behind us. But I know I can't if it comes at the expense of my own sanity. I look away.

I take a deep breath before I ask my next question. "What made you see a therapist?"

"You. Or rather, the loss of you. After our fight, I knew it was possible that would be the end of us. I didn't...I didn't know how I was going to get through losing you on my own."

I have to swallow back my tears.

"Part of me is worried it's a matter of time before you decide you're better than me. And when you said your father wouldn't approve of my drinking, I was worried that's what was happening. I...I know I drink too much. I'm trying to work on it. I will keep working on it."

"I understand. And I am glad to hear that, but I don't want you to see me as the reason you have to give up something that brings you comfort."

He's shaking his head before I finish speaking. "No, it's not like that. Even if we don't make it through this, I am doing this for myself, too."

I can't hold back the tears any more, and I just bury myself into his chest. For all the vitriol he hurled at me for wanting him to change, he wants to. He spent the time we were apart trying to truly better himself. And it doesn't feel right to hold on to all the resentment I was building when I thought he was ignoring me. I grab his hand and lead him to his bedroom, where we cuddle and talk for hours. I fall asleep in his arms, my heart in one piece, but the cracks still mending.

The weeks I spend waiting for my school decision letters are excruciating. But at least I have Hopper to keep me company and keep my mind occupied. After our blow up, we've been spending more time together. I keep telling him he doesn't have to win me back, but he's insistent on lavishing me with attention...in and out of bed.

He's come by the bar a few times, mainly to keep me company. It helps pass the time, and I love getting to spend time with him. Even more reassuring, he keeps himself to no more than two drinks an hour. If the other bar customers notice a difference in Hopper, they don't say anything about it. He's still his sexy, swaggering self, but even sharper. I can sense a bit of restlessness in him, but when I ask him about it, he brushes me off.

We're cuddled in bed the next night, my skin still pulsing with pleasure from his lovemaking when he pulls me close and kisses my cheek.

"Dr. Kenny mentioned today that I seemed agitated."

"Are you?" I ask. I know it's possible for depression to turn into mania, and part of me is worried that's what's happening here.

"I think I'm just bored. I think...maybe I need to think about transferring to whatever city you go to art school."

I sit up at that, my jaw dropped. "Really?" I can't repress the happiness I feel at that.

"Really," he says with that sexy grin.

I wrap my arms around him, squeezing him as tightly as I can. "Hopper, that would be phenomenal."

He kisses softly then, and I savor every movement of his lips. The possibility that he and I wouldn't have to be long distance fills me with so much hope. We talk about the logistics until I fall asleep on his chest.