His eyes answer.
I tried.
Ifailed.
But I nevergave up.
The questions come.Journalists with better nerves than me lobbing softballs about his opponent, his training regimen, his rising stardom.
He doesn’t look at me again.
But I know he knows I’m there.
I leave before the last question lands. Heart hammering.
I don’t trust myself to stay calm.
It’safter midnight when the pounding comes.
Hard. Fast. Desperate.
I know it’s him before I even get to the door.
I don’t open it.
I lean against it.
My hands shake.
Ripley’s sleeping in the next room, a soft snore puffing through the baby monitor on the end table. Her favorite stuffed bramblebear tucked under her chin.
I close my eyes and press my palm flat against the door.
His voice comes through low. Rough. Wrecked.
“I never stopped looking.”
My throat tightens so fast I almost choke.
I bite back a sob, teeth pressed hard into my lip.
He continues. “I followed every trace. Every ping. You were gone. Not just hidden.Scrubbed.They said you were dead. I checked planets with no names. Crossed voids I shouldn’t have survived.”
I whisper, “You found fame instead.”
Silence.
Then, “I needed to beseen.It was the only way I’d ever find you again.”
I slide down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, head resting against the cool alloy.
He mirrors me.
I can feel it.
His voice breaks. “You hate me?”
“No,” I whisper. “But I don't know you anymore.”
