I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Tori.” He takes my hands, and his are shaking slightly. Or maybe mine are. “Let me fix this. Let me talk to Dana. The team leadership. Whoever I need to talk to. I need to know your job is safe before we make any decisions.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can try.” His grip tightens on my fingers. “I’m not asking you to choose me over your career. I’m asking you to let me fight for a world where you don’t have to choose at all.”
I sway, resolve loosening. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then at least we’ll know we tried.” He brings one hand up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “But I need you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don’t give up on me. Not yet.” His eyes search mine, desperate, hopeful, and terrified all at once. “Can you do that? Can you give me a chance to make this right?”
I should say no. I should tell him it’s too risky, too complicated, too much. I should protect myself the way I always have.
But I’m so tired of protecting myself.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?”
“Okay. I won’t give up on you.” A tear slips down my cheek. “Not yet.”
Something in his expression breaks open—relief, maybe, or hope—and then he’s kissing me. Soft at first, almost tentative, like he’s asking permission. I respond by pulling him closer, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and the kiss deepens into something desperate, aching, and real.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I have to go,” he murmurs against my lips, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’m going to figure this out.” He sounds more confident than I feel.
“Okay.”
One more kiss—quick, fierce, a promise—and then he’s stepping back, letting go of my hands like it physically hurts him to do it.
He pauses at the threshold, looking back at me with an expression that makes my heart stutter.
“Goodnight, Tori.”
“Goodnight.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I lean against it, pressing my palm flat against the wood as if I can still feel him on the other side.
I don’t know if he can fix this. I don’t know if anyone can.
But for the first time today, I have something I didn’t have before.
Hope.
• • •
I don’t sleep that night.
The next morning, there’s a knock on my door at 7 AM. When I open it—still in my pajamas, hair unwashed, looking like a cautionary tale about poor life choices—my mother stands there with a bag of bagels and an expression that says she’s not leaving until she gets answers.
“Mom. What are you—”
“You’ve been ignoring my calls.” She pushes past me into the apartment. “The last time you ignored my calls, you’d failed organic chemistry and were convinced your life was over.”
