I am my father's son. I looked at someone I love and chose for him because trusting him with the full picture meant accepting an outcome I couldn't control.
Controlling the outcome was the point. I see that now.
His reading speed didn't change on that page. He absorbed it at the same steady pace he'd maintained from the beginning, and somehow that was worse than if he'd stopped. He was giving every sentence equal weight, including the ones I'd bled into.
He finished page seven. Set the stack down. Kept one hand flat on top of it, fingers spread.
"You gave up Scripps."
"Yes."
"For me."
"For us. I just did it wrong."
"I don't want to be someone's sacrifice," he said.
"You're not," I said. "You're a choice."
"You should've let me decide with you."
"I know."
I had no defense. I'd written seven pages of context and explanation and structural logic, and the only response that mattered was two words.
Heath exhaled. The set of his shoulders loosened.
He sat back. The chair creaked.
"We don't fix this by pretending it didn't happen."
"No."
"We fix it by doing it differently."
He slid the document toward the center of the table, halfway between his chair and my counter. Evidence filed.
I pushed off the counter and took one step forward. Stopped within arm's reach but didn't close the distance that remained.
Heath turned his face upward toward mine. I reached for his jaw. Two fingers along the hinge. His skin was warm. The muscle beneath my fingertips was tight.
He covered my hand with his and held it against his face for a single beat. Then he guided it down and set it on the table beside the document.
"Ask," he said. "Tell me what you want."
His voice was steady.
"You," I said.
"Then ask."
"Can I touch you?"
My voice came out quieter than I'd planned.
"Yes."
I put my hand on the side of his neck. Felt his pulse through my palm. He leaned into my hand, and the slight pressure of his weight against my fingers reached something behind my ribs that I'd been holding rigid since the night I signed the extension. A physical brace, the kind your body builds around an injury to keep you upright, exhausting to maintain.
