We’ve already built a fucking life together. We’re already living our future—or parts of it, anyway.
And I’ve been blind to it.
I’ve told myself for weeks that I’ve been protectingRobbiefrom making impulsive decisions—like immediately jumping into a relationship with me,before he’d truly figured out what he wanted. I’ve told myself I’m protecting our friendship, as though no one would get hurt if I never admitted, out loud and not hopped up on pain meds, that I’m in love with him.
But it’s so clear in this moment that I’ve mostly been protecting myself.
Because I’ve been in love with Robbie for years, sure, but that love only ever lived inside me, secret and safe and mine alone.
And that was tragic, yes, but it was also… well,comfortable.
I never had to show Robbie the particular fragile, messy, squishy bits of myself that come with being in love. All my fears and doubts and jealousies remained neatly tucked inside my head.
All these years, I knew I was out of contention as a potential romantic partner because of my gender, so I never had to worry that Robbie would consider a lifetimecommitment to my dramatic, snarky, poor-loser, appallingly bad-tempered self and sayohhhh, no thank you.
I never had to worry about whether our relationship would last when I knew it would neverstart.
I never had to carve my heart out of my chest, hand it over to him, and trust him not to smush it.
Robbie told me what he wanted,again. And once again, I said, “No, you don’t.”
I need to tell him I’m sorry. To tell him I believe him. And to tell him that—fuck—that if he’s ready to commit to us, then so am I.
I am in love with Robbie Wojcik. I always have been. And the man deserves to know.
I step onto the porch and peer through the window like a creepy voyeur, not realizing until I’m already doing it that I might be seeing something I can’t unsee. But the living room’s empty aside from dozens of electric candles casting flickering shadows on the walls, rose petals scattered across the floor, and a bouquet of flowers on the mantel.
Jesus. It’s a fucking seduction scene.
My stomach twists violently.
“Robbie! Robert!” I pound on the door with my left hand—beat on it, really—and when that doesn’t work, I kick it too… before remembering that I have a key.
I hesitate for one second. Am I really going to bust in and ruin Robbie’s evening?
I remember the look in his eyes this morning, the way he sounded as he whispered that he loved me last night, and I think,Fuck, yes, I am.
I try the door and find it unlocked, so I burst inside, nearly taking a header when my feet slide on the rosepetals. “Robbie! Robert Wojcik! Do not make me come into that bedroom!”
There’s no response.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
It takes me a few moments to get up the nerve to do it, but I finally move down the hall to the first-floor bedroom, where the bed is freshly made with more flower petals. My stomach drops in a combination of relief and confusion.
Still no Robbie.
“Robbie!” I call out, a little nervous now. “Robbie! Where are you?”
Rocco would not have hurt him. The man may be a terrible chef, but he’s not a monster. So where the hell is my Robbie?
After quickly checking the rest of the house with no success, I finally remember the Find My Friends app.
But when I click into it, Robbie is strangely across town.
Along with Holden. And presumably all of the emergency vehicles that had gone screaming past me in that very direction.
Whatever the hell is happening, Robbie’s right in the middle of it.
