He knew his history. He knew that he wasn't good at relationships. That his inability to effectively communicate his feelings made him seem cold and distant. That his devotion to his job made him miss dates and anniversaries and birthdays. That he carried enough baggage to drown himself and anyone touching him.
But as he stared down at the woman sleeping on the couch next to him, he didn't care. Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn't stop himself. She offered every bit of herself to him, without demanding anything in return, and he wasn't going to turn her away.
He couldn't.
Not when he loved her so much it threatened to choke him.
Leaning down, he brushed her soft hair out of her face and kissed her cheek. History had made him who he was. But all that mattered was her, at that very moment. And he wasn't going to let go.