Her eyes opened.
There was no hiding now.
No chart.
No gloves.
No professional mask thick enough for what sat between us.
Her laugh was small and bitter. “Of course you did.”
“Destiny.”
“No, fine.” She threw one hand slightly out to the side, then dropped it, like even her anger knew better than to move tooloudly around a healing wound. “Fine. At least one of us has the balls to be honest, so here it goes.”
My heart kicked so hard the monitor answered.
She glanced at it.
Then back at me.
Good.
Let it betray me.
Let something in this room tell the truth.
“If Georgia is the love of your life,” Destiny said, “if she’s the one you want to build a family with, have a couple kids with, plant a tomato garden with, grow old with—fine.”
Her voice cracked on the word fine.
There was nothing fine about it.
“But I am right here.”
The words landed in my chest and stayed there.
“I am right here,” she said again, softer, fiercer. “And if you fuck this up, if you marry her because you’re scared or guilty or trying to prove something to yourself, and we both end up heartbroken for the rest of our lives, I will never forgive you.”
“Beautiful—”
“I mean that.” Her eyes filled, but she did not look away. “I will never forgive you for making me the thing you wanted and refused. I won’t. I can survive you choosing her. I can. But I cannot spend the rest of my life knowing you loved me and married someone else because pretending felt safer.”
My throat closed.
She put one hand against her chest.
“At least I have the balls to say who I really love and who I really want.”
The words came out raw.
Not pretty.
Not sweet.
Truth rarely was.
“And it’s you,” she said. “It has always been you.”
