He exhales, rough at the edges.“I thought you were getting even because I thought the worst of you and walked away.I thought you were choosing the story over me.”
He shakes his head slowly, like he’s still disgusted with himself.“But when I cooled down and stripped away everything I’d been carrying, I knew I was wrong.So fucking wrong.That’s why I went back for the article.”
“I chose you.”I hold his gaze so he understands the full weight of it.“Long before Erica told me about Beto.I still wrote the truth, what mattered to the story, but I didn’t include the parts that weren’t mine to tell.That really didn’t matter.”
He doesn’t hide how my truth lands as his features soften, cheeks flush, and he swallows hard.“I didn’t trust you?—”
“No, and you didn’t let me in.”
He nods.“After my dad, I believed I needed to take whatever was coming, alone, that it was the only way through.That carrying it myself, fixing it myself, was just what you did.And I used that as an excuse to shut you out, not hear you, when it mattered most.”His voice drops.“Grace, I’m sorry.”
Even understanding how he got there, the truth of it still burns, because I realize sorry doesn’t answer therealquestion.
What happens the next time things get hard?What happens when he defaults to the man who shoulders everything alone and leaves me standing on the outside?
“I need to know something.”I slide my hands into my pockets, fingers stiff from the cold.“Are you talking to me right now, opening up and sharing a piece of you, or are you apologizing because you realize I didn’t do anything wrong, and you want to fix things because it’s the right thing to do?”
He steps closer.“I’m letting you in.I fucked up, and I’m done going it alone.And I know none of this might fix what I broke—that’s not why I’m here.”His eyes stay steady on mine.“I should’ve trusted you with it when Erica told you.And if you walk away now, I’ll own that.I mean it.”
“Thank you.That means more than you know.”I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek, grounding myself before the ache can tip over into something I can’t contain.“I need you to understand why I wrote what you read on the laptop?—”
“Grace, you don’t need to explain to?—”
“But I do.It’s not to justify anything… It’s another piece of me.”
He swallows hard, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“Writing is how I process things.I’ve done it since long before I went into journalism, and that’s why I threw myself into my work after Cary died.And after you walked out.I was never going to do anything with what you read on my laptop.I deleted the?—”
“Grace.”His voice is gentle but firm in a way that steadies me.He closes the remaining distance between us.“I know.I trust you.”
I nod, lips pressed together, eyes burning, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.The quiet stretches between us—not awkward, just necessary, the kind of silence that has its own weight and purpose.
Needing to feel him, to anchor the swell of sensations rising in me, my hand finds his.Our fingers thread together, and touching him feels like coming back to something I didn’t realize I’d been missing.
“I’m choosing this.”I lift my chin and hold his eyes.“Choosing us.”
Something breaks loose in him, and he exhales, shoulders dropping, and then his free hand comes up to cup my face, steady and reverent.His thumb brushes my cheek once like he needs to confirm I’m real and standing here.
Then he kisses me.
Not careful and not hesitant—he kisses me like the last wall between us has come down, and he’s walking through it without looking back.The world doesn’t just tilt, it dissolves.
My knees buckle as his mouth moves over mine, urgent and consuming, and I fist the front of his jacket with both hands like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.Every thought I’ve ever had burns away to nothing.
When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against mine, his breath is ragged, and his hands still hold me like he isn’t ready to let go.Neither of us moves.
“Thank fuck.”His voice is rough and heartfelt, and then his mouth twitches as reality nudges its way back in.“Grace.I don’t want to kill the mood, and I know the timing is terrible, but we have to figure out how this works.Me here.You in LA.Because right now, I can’t bear the thought of you leaving, and I don’t want to let you go.”
I smile because I’m not scrambling for the answer.Whether I knew it or not, I’ve already planted seeds and rearranged things for what comes next in my life.
“Don’t worry.”I lean in, brushing my lips over his again.“I’ve got that covered.Let’s just be here for now.”
He doesn’t argue, only kisses me again, deeper this time, and it feels like an agreement sealed between two people who finally decided to stop getting in their own way.
I break the kiss.“Wait.Isn’t there a game happening right now?Didn’t the team make the semifinals?”
“Yeah.”