She tells me the surgery went well, or well enough. Her words are careful but hopeful. The way she talks makes me suspect she is repeating something someone else told her rather than something she fully believes yet. I don’t ask for details because I already know I’m not ready to hear what recovery actually looks like if the answer isn’t simple.
Instead, I ask her about Nashville. The confusion on her face is immediate and perfect.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“We should take a trip,” I say slowly, because the idea has been sitting somewhere in the back of my mind longer than I realized.“You like Ella Langley.”
Her smile returns gradually, like she’s trying to decide whether I’m serious or not.
“You are something,” she says.
She’s right. I just didn’t realize what until recently.
“And besides,” she adds after a second,“weren’t you her biggest fan?”
“I’m not,” I answer quietly.
“You’re not?” she asks, surprised.
“I only listened to her because you like her,” I admit, because there isn’t any point pretending otherwise anymore.
Her laugh is soft and warm and exactly the kind of sound I didn’t realize I needed to hear until now.
“You’ve been listening to her for weeks,” she says.
I smirk. Worth it.
“My brain feels foggy,” I tell her after a moment, the medication still dragging at the edges of my concentration in a way that makes everything feel slightly slower than it should.“But we won, though, right?”
“We sure did,” she confirms immediately, squeezing my hand just slightly tighter.
“I wish I could remember the look on Perth’s face,” I say, and even half drugged, I mean it.
“You probably can find it on camera somewhere,” she replies.
Maybe. But I don’t need footage. I remember enough.
Then she says something that makes everything else in the room fade for a second.
“Our future.”
The words land carefully between us, like she doesn’t realize how large they are until after she says them.
“Our future?” I repeat.
“Well, yeah,” she says softly.“You know I’ve been falling for you. Besides, the doctor called me your girlfriend. This might be official now.”
Something inside my chest shifts permanently in that moment, settling into place with a certainty that doesn’t need explanation or confirmation.
“You’re just saying that because you feel bad for me,” I tease gently, because if I don’t lighten the moment, I might not be able to respond at all.
A tear slips down her cheek anyway.
“I’ve been falling harder,” I tell her quietly.
And that part isn’t a joke.
Not even a little.
