“That’s offensive.”
“It’s accurate.”
I laughed again, but it broke at the end.
“I don’t want to make you stupid,” I said.
“I appreciate that.”
“I already did tonight.”
“Yeah.”
The simple acknowledgment hit harder than if he’d yelled.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t apologize and then keep doing it the same way.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
He sighed. “I’m not asking for details tonight. I’m not asking you to say anything you’re not ready to say. But I need you to stop acting like ‘fine’ is a personality. It’s insulting, and frankly, you’re not good at it.”
My chest hurt.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted.
“Do what?”
“Be not fine without becoming everyone’s problem.”
Roman was silent long enough that I heard my own breathing.
Then he said, “You’ve been my problem since you were a rookie who tried to microwave a fork in the practice facility kitchen.”
“It had foil on it. Different issue.”
“You are missing the emotional weight of my point.”
“I got it.”
“No, you didn’t.” His voice stayed steady. “People are allowed to care about you before you hit the wall. That’s not a crisis response. That’s friendship.”
I looked out the windshield because my eyes burned and I refused to cry in a parked car like a sad commercial.
“I don’t need details,” Roman said. “I just need you to stop pretending you’re fine.”
That landed so hard I couldn’t answer.
For once, Roman didn’t make me.
After a minute, he said, “Go inside. Eat if you haven’t. Text me tomorrow after dinner with Vanessa. Not a report. Just alive or not alive.”
“Those are the options?”
“With you, yes.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “Okay.”
