She looks at me through tears.
“I don’t want half of you,” she says. “I don’t want you choosing for me. I don’t want to feel like I’m a liability you need to manage.”
“You’re not a liability,” I say fiercely. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
She searches my face.
“Then fight for me,” she whispers.
“I am,” I say immediately. “I’m done running. I’m done making decisions without you. If the league has a problem, we face it. Together. If the team has a problem, we face it. Together.”
I step closer.
“I won’t walk away again.”
Her hands finally grip my shirt.
“Promise?” she whispers.
“On everything.”
She lets out a sob and crashes into me.
I catch her, wrapping my arms around her like I’m afraid she’ll disappear.
We both cry.
Not pretty. Not quiet.
Just raw.
“I hated you,” she admits into my chest.
“I hated myself,” I reply.
She pulls back just enough to look at me.
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“And I still love you.”
Relief crashes over me so hard my knees nearly give out.
“I love you,” I say again.
This time when I kiss her, it’s not desperate.
It’s healing.
Slow.
Intentional.
Her fingers thread into my hair. Mine settle at her waist. We don’t rush. We don’t need to.
When we finally rest our foreheads together, breathing steadies between us.
