Her shoulders tense.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” I say. “I’m asking you to understand that every word you trusted? I bled for.”
She looks at me then—really looks. Not angry. Not soft. Something raw and searching.
“You watched me fall in love,” she says. “And you let me.”
I swallow. “I fell too.”
“You were already there,” she snaps.
“Yes,” I say. “And it scared the hell out of me.”
Her breath stutters.
“I should hate you,” she says.
“I know.”
“I should walk away.”
“I won’t stop you.”
She steps closer now, invading my space, finger jabbing into my chest. “You don’t get points for honesty after the fact.”
“I’m not asking for points.”
“What are you asking for?”
I meet her gaze. Don’t flinch.
“Time,” I say. “A chance to earn back what I broke. And the right to want you without hiding.”
Her hand stays on my chest. I feel the heat of it through my shirt.
“You don’t get to decide what you mean to me,” she says.
“I never wanted to,” I reply. “I just didn’t think you deserved the kind of guy that runs into fires and risks his life every day.”
Her jaw tightens. “So you’d rather risk destroying me now?”
The words cut deep.
I drop my gaze. “I’d rather burn than lose you.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then she laughs—soft, broken. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
She drags a hand through her hair, pacing once, twice. I stay where I am. Let her have the space.
“You didn’t just write letters,” she says. “You rewired how I see love.”
“I wrote what I meant,” I say. “If that’s wrong, I’ll own it forever.”
She stops in front of me again. Close enough that I can smell her—coffee and winter and something uniquely Rory.
