Because I’ve never said it. Because I’ve neverletanyone say it. Because I’ve built my life around not being that obvious.
Rosa gestures vaguely between me and the TV. “Come on.”
“That’s not an answer,” I snap, panic creeping in around the edges. “Rosa.”
She studies me for a beat, then sighs. “Okay, fine. You want the itemized list?”
I don’t say anything. I just stare.
She ticks it off on her fingers. “You’ve spent over ten years insisting he was ‘just a friend’ while somehow never dating anyone seriously. You watch his games like it’s a religious obligation. It’s Friday night, and instead of going out, you’re sitting here with me, eating home-cooked food and staring at a basketball broadcast like it might explain your life.”
My lungs stall.
“And,” she continues, softer now, “you just quietly poured a shitload of money into a program he’s leading. No press. No ego. No strategic benefit. Just… belief.”
I swallow.
“That’s not normal,” she finishes. “That’s not philanthropy. That’s… personal.”
I look back at the screen automatically, like Ollie might save me. He doesn’t. He just keeps playing, jaw set, shoulder clearly hurting, still refusing to step back.
“I didn’t do itforhim,” I say, because I need that to be true.
Rosa nods. “I believe you.”
I glance at her, startled.
“But,” she adds, “you didn’tnotdo it because of him either.”
The room feels suddenly too small.
“You know he’s straight,” she says gently, like that’s the part she thinks hurts most. “At least… that’s what the world thinks.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t, despite hearing the question in her tone. The truth presses hard against my ribs, demanding to be let out, and I’m not ready for that kind of earthquake. If she knew we’re married…. Fuck, I can’t even go there.
Rosa reaches over and nudges my knee with her foot. “You don’t have to explain it,” she says. “I’m not asking you to.” Her voice softens. “I just don’t want you pretending this is nothing. Not to me. Not to yourself.”
I drag a hand over my face, the weight of beingseensettling heavy in my chest. “I didn’t think it was obvious,” I mutter.
She snorts. “You’re terrible at hiding the things that matter.”
I hold back my wince.If only she knew.
On the screen, the crowd erupts as Ollie sinks another impossible shot. My heart lurches like it always does.
Rosa watches my reaction—not unkind, not smug, just quietly certain. “You don’t have to decide anything,” she says.“But you can’t keep living like this doesn’t exist. You deserve to love someone who will love you back with everything they have.”
She thinks this is a huge case of unrequited love, which honestly, it fucking feels like it is. I stare at the screen, at the man I’ve loved in all but silence for most of my adult life, and feel the truth settle somewhere deep and unavoidable.
She’s right. And that might be the most terrifying part.
After seeing Ollie again—after hearing him talk about the charity, after watching him play like nothing in the world could stop him—it feels impossible to pretend nothing’s changed.
And yet… everything has.
The game winds down to a win. The crowd roars. Ollie’s name echoes through the arena again as the camera finds him, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, smiling faintly despite the way his shoulder is clearly bothering him.
