“I thought about you in that VA hospital room when I couldn’t remember my own name but I remembered yours,” I said, voice breaking now. “I thought about you reading my letters like they were oxygen. I thought about you standing at a grave with my name on it.”
Her breath caught. She did that thing where she clenched her jaw, raising her chin like she was bracing for a hit. My Malibu.
“And I thought if I drink this, I lose you for real.”
My chest felt tight. Too tight.
“I can survive a lot,” I said. “I have survived a lot. But I won’t survive you walking away.”
Her eyes went glassy.
“I’ve loved you since we were seventeen,” I said. “Since you told me I was arrogant and you hated my stupid bike.”
A flicker of something moved in her expression.
“I don’t want to numb you out,” I said. “I don’t want to forget your face just to quiet my head. I don’t want to be a man you have to survive.”
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the door.
“You are the only thing I’ve ever chosen that made me better instead of smaller. I don’t need you to forgive me tonight,” I said. “I don’t need you to say it’s okay.”
My throat burned.
“I just need you to believe that I am fighting for you.”
Her eyes filled. She blinked hard.
“I packed your bag because I won’t go back there again,” she said.
“I know.” I nodded immediately. “And if I ever put you there again, you don’t wait. You leave. You hear me? You leave.”
She recoiled, and I hate myself for it. But it needed said.
“I am not asking you to save me,” I said. “I am asking you not to give up on me while I learn how to save myself.”
The chain on the door rattled softly.
“I choose you,” I said again, but this time it wasn’t a declaration. It was a plea. “I choose you over the noise. I choose you over the bottle. I choose you over the easy way out.”
Her breath trembled.
“I want to deserve you,” I whispered. “I don’t just want to love you. I want to deserve you.”
She stepped into the hallway. “I’m angry,” she said. “I’m hurt.”
“I know.”
“I don’t forgive you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I won’t be your rehab.”
“I won’t make you be.”
A beat.
“If you walk away from this again,” she said quietly, “I won’t survive it.”
