I hear movement down the hallway. The sound of my bedroom door opening. Her soft footsteps headed towards me.
I turn, and Natalia appears at the end of the hall, hair a mess, and eyes heavy with sleep.
She stops when she sees me, and for a second, we just stare at each other.
Natalia clears her throat. "Did you move me. I just woke up in your bed."
"I did. You spent the entire night on sitting straight up on the couch. You couldn’t have been comfortable," I say.
Her eyes flicker away. "It was fine."
"It wasn’t."
She walks into the kitchen slowly, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to be here. Like she expects me to tell her to leave now that I’m upright and no longer delirious.
I watch her closely because the last time we spoke, I was cold enough to make her eyes go glassy. And yet she still came. She still stayed.
"Are you… better?" she asks carefully.
"I’m not dying," I reply.
A ghost of a smile tugs at her mouth. "That’s a low bar for you, Popovich."
"I set realistic goals."
I see the moment that the reality between us hits her. Her shoulders tense slightly.
"I didn’t mean to tell Carey," she says quietly, as if she’s been holding the words in her throat all night. "I know that’s not what you want to hear, because it doesn’t change what happened, but I—Luka, I just wish I could prove to you that I didn’t mean to do it."
The ache I've been feeling in my chest ever since I saw Carey's text on her phone, hits me again.
"You did tell her," I say.
Her eyes drop. "Yes."
"And you knew what I asked."
"Yes," she whispers. "And I was wrong."
The remorse on her face is real. There's a remorse on her face that I know is genuine. She wishes she could take it back and I believe it.
It makes me angry and relieved at the same time, which is an unpleasant combination.
"I didn’t leak it," she adds, lifting her eyes back to mine. "I never wanted it out there. I wanted to go to the Olympic Committee with a plan, the way we talked about. I wanted you to still have control."
Control… That word is always the problem.
"I know," I say finally, and she goes still, as if she wasn’t expecting agreement.
Her brows pull together slightly. "You… do?"
I exhale and then nod. "I know you didn’t want it out."
She doesn’t move. She looks like she’s afraid this is a trap. Like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"I asked you to stay," I say, voice lower now. "And you stayed. Why?"
Her throat works as she swallows. "You were sick."
