“Corin.” I take a breath. “Staying here won’t fix the donor problem.”
“No,” he agrees. “But running to Manhattan won’t either. It’ll just be the same playbook. Lawyers, PR teams, carefully crafted statements. I’ve done that before. It got me nowhere.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “I’m staying not because it’s strategic. I’m staying because this is where the actual work is. The clinic. The families. The thing that matters.” His dark eyes find mine, and I feel that look all the way down to my toes. “A part me wants to run to Manhattan. Because that parts knows you’ll be there, too. But I’ll just be following you as you run. However, if I stay and fight for what we built here... maybe... maybe you’ll choose to stay and fight with me.”
Oh.
I feel my face flush.
He’s standing here, barefoot and rumpled and completely disarmed, telling me he’s choosing presence over PR, and asking me to stay and fight with him.
I want to, but..
“I told you I don’t want to be the one who brings down the foundation,” I manage.
He shakes his head. “You’re not the problem. You’re the solution.”
Oh Corin.
Why are you so sweet to me?
“But what if theydestroyyou?” I press.
He actually shrugs, like we’re discussing the weather and not his entire professional legacy. “Then they destroy me. But at least I’ll have done it honestly.”
Honestly.
I think about five years ago. About the man I thought betrayed me and the truth I didn’t know. About all the walls I built to protect myself.
I think about what Jess said:Don’t run this time.
I think about the sandal I left at his door.
And I realize, with a clarity that feels almost painful, that I have a choice.
I can protect myself. Pack my bag, fly back to Manhattan, rebuild my reputation from the safety of distance. Watch from afar as Corin fights this battle alone.
Or I can stay.
Looking at the gorgeous, rumpled, heartfelt man in front of me, the choice becomes obvious.
I wrap my arms around him and kiss him.
Hard.
It’s not gentle. It’s not reverent. It’s the kind of kiss that saysI’m terrified and I’m choosing you anyway.
His hands come up to cup my face, and I feel him exhale against my mouth like he’s been holding his breath for days.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I say against his mouth, pulling back just enough to speak. “I don’t know why I keep running. It’s like... it’s this autopilot thing. Like mybrain goes ‘danger danger’ and suddenly I’m packing bags and booking flights and finding seventy perfectly rational reasons why leaving is actually the responsible choice, and I don’t even—”
“Amara.” His thumb traces my jawline, silencing me. “I know why you run.”
I blink. “You do?”
He nods. “It’s simple. You want me to fight for you.”
The words land like a stone dropping into still water. The ripples spreading outward, disturbing everything.
“That’s not—” I start to protest, but he shakes his head.
