"You’re right…" I say. His eyes darted back up to mine as if he wasn’t expecting me to agree. "I did give up a lot… I gave up you."
He looks away, studying the wall as if some answer might be written there.
"I’m not built for this, Natalia," he continues. "This would have happened, eventually. If you hadn’t done what you did, I would have destroyed this."
"Why? Because you believe love makes you weak?"
"Yes."
I shake my head. "You’re wrong. Love makes you stronger."
"We’re both better off. You’ll get a promotion before long. You’ll find someone else. Someone who hates the cold and skiing."
"Right," I say, crossing my arms. "And you’ll go back to parking yourself in a hotel bar by the pool table, only interested if she doesn’t ask questions or wants to stay the night."
My chin quivers at the thought of him with someone else, but he doesn’t say anything, though now I see that his eyes are starting to redden. The first sign of true emotion, but for what? What is he feeling? Why won’t he fight for this? I’m so tired of men not fighting for me. My father… now Luka.
"So that’s it?" I ask. "You’re done?"
"I was done the second I saw that headline."
The words feel final. Like the latch on a door, clicking shut.
"Then you’re right. If you can give me up that easily, we never would have worked."
He nods once, distant.
"I hope you get everything you’re looking for," he says, the look of complete detachment, except for the reddening around his eyes.
Then he turns and walks down the corridor without looking back. This time, I don’t chase him. I’m tired of chasing unavailable men.
The arena doors closed behind me and the cold Seattle air felt heavier now.
Molly is leaning against the car when she sees my face emerge from the stadium. She doesn’t ask how it went; she just opens the passenger door.
The drive back is quiet at first. Streetlights blur past the window, and I focus on the rhythm of them instead of the tight ache spreading through my chest.
Molly drops me off, heading back to her hotel. She tells me that she’ll pick me up tomorrow and we can drive to the airport together.
The moment my mother sees me, her eyebrows knit together.
"Oh, honey," she says, and that’s it.
The second her arms wrap around me, everything I’ve been holding in breaks loose.
I don’t cry prettily or quietly against her shoulder.
I fold into her like I did when I was fifteen and convinced the world had ended because a boy didn’t call me back, or the time my father didn’t show up for my high school graduation.
Except this feels bigger.
"I found something I wanted more than my job, like you said I should," I whisper against her shoulder. "I wanted him more than proving something to my father. And I lost it."
She smooths her hand over my hair.
"Are you sure you lost it?" she asks softly.
"You should have seen him. He barely looked at me."
