Three knocks on the door.
"Liz."
My body goes still. I stop crying mid-sob, hand flying to my mouth. "I'm f-fine. Just … just give me a minute."
"You're not fine. I saw your face before you ran. Let me in."
His voice is rough through the door. I can't let him see me like this. Can't let him know what's really wrong because what'swrong is him, and I can't tell him that without destroying everything. "I just need a second. Go back to the reception."
"I'm not leaving. Not until I know you're okay. Please, Liz. Let me in."
My hand hovers over the doorknob. I should send him away, but I've never been able to deny him anything, and the desperate note in his voice makes it impossible to start now.
I force myself to stand on unsteady legs and catch my reflection in the mirror one more time. Hopeless mess. He's going to take one look at me and know something's seriously wrong.
The lock clicks as I turn it. I step back as the door opens, and Dean closes and locks it behind him before I can change my mind.
He goes completely still when he sees my face.
His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at his sides, eyes scanning my face.
"Who—" He stops himself, tries again. "Did someone say something to you? Was it Maura? Because I swear to God?—"
"No. It's not. Nobody said anything."
"Then what's wrong?" He steps closer, and I back up until I hit the marble sink. "Liz, talk to me. Please."
"I can't."
"You can tell me anything. You know that."
"Not this."
"Especially this." His voice is rough, urgent, and he's close enough now that I can smell his cologne, that familiar scent that makes it harder to think. "Whatever it is, whatever's making you cry like this, I need to know. Let me help."
My hands grip the sink edge behind me for support. He's looking at me with such genuine concern, such desperate need to fix whatever's wrong. I want to laugh because he IS what's breaking my heart—has been breaking it for years every time he smiled at me like a friend instead of something more, every time he told me about a date with someone else, every time he touched me this weekend and made me hope for things I can't have.
"You can't fix this."
"Why not?"
"Because you're?—"
"I'm what?"
I shake my head and back up as far as I can go. The bathroom feels smaller, the air thinner, nowhere to escape. "You want to know what's wrong? Fine. You want to know?"
"Yeah, I do."
I take a breath that doesn't fill my lungs and say the words that will ruin everything. "I'm in love with you. There, I said it."
Dean's face is unreadable, and I can't tell what he's thinking. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, and I can't look away from his face even though I'm terrified of what I'll see there. His mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and fixed on me.
"I've been in love with you for years. Since college. Since I realized you've been paying attention, you noticed things I never told you, and I just … I knew. Right then. Over time, my feelings only grew deeper and more intense."
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself but failing completely.
"Every guy I dated after that was just ... me trying to get over you. Trying to convince myself that I could feel that way about someone else. But I couldn't. Nobody else came close. Nobody else was you."
