Page 102 of Grizz

“I’ve been… doing some thinking,” she says.

I drop my bag by the door.“Me too.”

She looks up, surprised.“You have?”

“Yeah,” I say.“But—” I gesture lightly.“You go first.”

She exhales, slow and steady.Seems she’s been rehearsing this in her head and is finally committing to it.“When I first met you,” she says, “I thought working with you would be impossible.”

Everyone who works with me thinks that.

“I thought dating you would be even worse,” she adds.“You were volatile and defensive and so sure you didn’t need anyone.You represented everything I thought I couldn’t tolerate.”She takes a step closer.“And then I realized I was wrong.You weren’t everything I hated.You were everything I was afraid of.”

I don’t want to hear this because I’ve spent a lot of time the last few days putting my walls back in place.I am safe and secure once again.Untouchable, really.Except for her fucking words.

“You’re honest in a way that doesn’t hide behind a veneer,” she says, her eyes locked onto mine.“You feel things deeply and you don’t pretend you don’t.You don’t always handle them well—but you’re real.And somewhere along the way, I realized you’re exactly the kind of person I need.”

She swallows, eyes still fixed on mine.

“And I think,” she says quietly, “that I might be the person you need too.”

Her admission hangs between us, heavy and exposed.

I don’t move or speak.

I stand there, the apartment silent around us, my mind going completely, terrifyingly blank.

I finally nod.

“Yeah,” I say.“You’re right.”

Relief floods her face, immediate and unguarded.Hope flashes there—bright, reckless.

“I knew it,” she says softly.“I knew you’d see it.”

I shake my head.“No.Don’t do that.”

Her smile falters.“Do what?”

“Build a future off one word,” I snap.“You’re hearing what you want to hear.”

“I’m hearing you say you need me.”

I let out a breath through my nose.“I said Ido.That doesn’t mean I can.”

She takes a step closer.“Why not?”

Because the truth is ugly.Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real.“Because this—” I gesture between us.“It doesn’t end well.”

She frowns.“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” I say.Too fast.Too certain.“I always do.”

“That’s not fair,” she says.“You don’t get to decide the ending by yourself.”

I laugh once, humorless.“I absolutely do.”

“So what, that’s it?You walk away because things got hard?”