Page 132 of The Backup Plan

I’ve rehearsed what I need to say to him a hundred times in my head, even out loud in my car on the way over here. Every version ends the same way—with his face changing, his body stilling, and disbelief dimming his eyes as the truth lands and his dream dissipates.

I wish I didn’t have to say any of it.

I wish I didn’t know what I know.

I wish I were just his girlfriend and not his doctor. Wouldn’t that make this easier all around?

No. Because either way, he’ll be devastated.

I knock.

The door swings open almost immediately. Lucas faces me with a megawatt grin, energy bouncing off him and eyes bright in a way I’ve never seen before.

“You heard, right?” he blurts out.

Before I can answer, he’s already pulling me inside with a sound of pure joy.

“I made it,” he says, voice thick with disbelief and joy. “I made the cut.”

My stomach drops.

“I know he hinted at it in the locker room the other day, but there was still doubt. Still . . . I fucking made the cut, Em. I live to fight another day,” he says with dramatic flair.

He laughs. It’s a full, unguarded sound before he lifts me off the ground and spins me like nothing could possibly be wrong. My feet leave the floor. His arms are strong and steady around me.

He’s on top of the world while I’m breaking in half.

“I knew it,” he says against my ear. “I should have never doubted you. You told me experience mattered and it does.”

He sets me down and kisses me—hard and happy and triumphant. It’s a kiss you give when life finally gives you something back after struggling for some time.

I kiss him back because I don’t know how not to.

When I pull away, he’s still smiling. “You’re not saying anything. Why are you not saying anything?” he asks.

I stutter. Eyes brimming with tears. Heart racing. Brain struggling to catch up. “I—I’m just so happy for you.”

The words gut me to say more than he’ll ever know.

“We have to celebrate,” he says. “Tonight. I don’t care. We’ll figure it out.”

I stare at him, at the man I love—and a lump forms in my throat. Yes, love. Jesus, it’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to admit it. The first time I’ve given myself the chance to feel it . . . and I’m the one who will break his heart for other reasons.

“Em? Are you hearing me?” He gives a subtle shake of my shoulders to emphasize.

“Yes. Of course, we need to celebrate.”

I could tell him now.

I could ruin this moment before it even finishes sinking in.

Or I could let him have it. Let him have the one night where he gets to feel like the universe is finally pulling for him and on his side.

I choose wrong.

Or maybe I choose kindness.

“I’m so proud of you.”