My chest tightens.
“What about at the donor dinner?” I say, anger and humiliation battling in my mind. “Did you know then?”
He winces slightly, and I can’t tell for sure if he’s going to lie or tell me the truth. “I didn’t know for sure, no. I suspected, though.”
He nods like he understands the rule. Like he’s learned my rules the way I learn exits.
“I’m not telling you to fix it,” he says quietly. “I’m telling you because you deserve the truth, and I want to give you that.”
My breath stutters.
He swallows once, slow, like he’s choosing each word instead of throwing them at me.
“I asked you to meet me here because I didn’t want to do this in a message,” he says. “I didn’t want you alone in your room reading something that could gut you. I wanted you somewhere you could leave whenever you wanted.”
My jaw clenches. “I can leave.”
“I know.” His voice stays calm. “That’s why I picked here.”
I laugh once, sharp and ugly. “Because it’s my safe place.”
What he doesn’t know, is thathehad started to become my safe place. I felt good on the ice lately, yes, but being near him recently had started to make me feel better than skating ever had. He made me feel wanted for exactly who I was, never asking me to play a role that wasn’t authentically me.
“I know. I’m so sorry, Harlow.”
No denial, no excuse, just the truth. And that’s what hurts the most.
“So you knew you were going to ruin it? That’s why you waited to tell me? To enjoy whatever time we had left together?”
His eyes flash with pain.
“I didn’t want to ruin anything,” he says, voice rougher now. “I wanted to stop lying by omission.”
I swallow hard.
“You didn’t tell me,” I say. “You let me—” My voice catches. I clear my throat, furious at myself. “You let me tell you things I’ve never told anyone outside of my family. You letusdo things together. I trusted you.”
His shoulders lift and fall, one heavy breath.
“Yeah,” he says. “I did.” He doesn’t dress it up. He doesn’t pretend it’s noble. He just holds the weight of it like it belongs to him. “And I’ve felt guilty about it every day since,” he adds softly.
The honesty lands like a punch. Because guilt means he cares. And caring makes this more complicated, not less.
I stare at the ice below us, because if I look at him too long, I’m going to do something stupid—like cry, or scream, or reach for him like my body doesn’t know the difference between hurt and safe anymore.
I want to run.
I want to throw up.
I want to rewind time to when he was just words, and I could pretend the world couldn’t touch it.
My brain starts looping outcomes. The worst ones first, always, and the truth slips out of me.
“I feel so stupid.”
Grayson’s voice sharpens, not angry, but protective. “Please don’t.”
I snap my head back. “You don’t get to tell me anything right now, Grayson.”
