And now I was staring down the barrel of doing it all again.
Only this time, I knew exactly what I was giving up. This wasn’t some abstract concept of opportunity cost. This was Diego’s smile across the bar. His quiet strength when I broke down. The way he made space for me to be both strong and vulnerable. The sensation of his hands in my hair, his breath against my neck.
Being back here, it was impossible not to think about what my life would have been like if I’d chosen him and Huckleberry Creek instead of what was expected of me. Would we still be together? What the hell would I have done with my life? Would I still be working at the bar? My parents would have fucking hated that, and I’d never have heard the end of it. Doc would’ve taken flack for being a bad influence. Those were all reasons I’d made the choice I had. But was the life I’d built since then actually worth the sacrifice of what might have been?
I paced the kitchen, coffee forgotten. The mental math wasn’t adding up anymore.
On one side: the potential for a prestigious job, financial security, the validation of my parents, and the culmination of years of education and sacrifice.
On the other: Diego’s smile. The warmth of a community that knew me. Work that left me tired but satisfied rather than drained and empty. And the possibility—just the possibility—of building something real with the one person who’d truly seen me.
A wild, irrational thought surfaced:I don’t have to leave.
I could... what? Stay? Tend bar for the rest of my life? Throw away years of grueling work, student loans, and sacrifice for a man?
But even as I formed the arguments against it, another voice whispered:Would it really be so terrible?
I’d felt more alive in one week at Doc’s than I had in months at the firm. I’d connected with people beyond transactional relationships. I’d laughed—really laughed—for the first time in ages.
And then there was Diego. The possibility of exploring what was still between us. Of building something real with the one person who’d always seen me clearly.
My phone rang, its corporate ringtone slicing through my thoughts like a scalpel. Braced for another work crisis, I checked the screen.
It wasn’t my boss. It was Martin Greeley, managing partner at Hadley-Ross.
I drew a steadying breath before answering. “Good morning, Mr. Greeley.”
“Gillian! Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.” His voice boomed with its usual forced joviality. “How’s your grandfather doing?”
“Better, thank you for asking. Still adjusting to the doctor’s orders.”
“Excellent, excellent.” His disinterest in the actual answer was palpable. “Listen, I won’t beat around the bush. The partnership committee met yesterday, and your name came up.”
My pulse quickened. This was it—the conversation I’d been working toward since I’d joined the firm.
“I’ve been impressed with your work on the Anderson merger,” he continued. “The entire team has. Particularly your ability to deliver under... less than ideal circumstances.”
I sank into a chair. “Thank you, Mr. Greeley.”
“We’re prepared to offer you the junior partnership track, starting when you return.” His voice took on the practiced cadence of someone delivering good news. “Of course, we’ll need you back in the office no later than next Monday to begin the transition. Richardson is prepping the Westridge acquisition, and we want you to take point.”
Everything I’d worked for, dangled right in front of me. The brass ring. The validation. The proof that walking away from Diego had been the right choice.
So why did it seem like I was being offered a beautifully wrapped box of nothing?
“Gillian? Are you there?”
“Yes, sorry.” I straightened in my chair. “I’m just... processing. This is wonderful news.”
“We think so too. You’re exactly the kind of talent we want to cultivate at Hadley-Ross.” He paused, his tone shifting slightly. “I know family obligations are important, but I trust you understand we need all hands on deck for Westridge. It’s a $4.2 billion deal.”
The subtext was clear: my dedication would be measured by how quickly I abandoned my family crisis and returned to work.
“I understand completely,” I replied automatically. “I appreciate the opportunity and the confidence you’ve shown in me.”
More pleasantries followed before we disconnected. I set my phone down carefully, as if it might explode.
Junior partner. The title I’d been chasing since I’d started law school. The validation I’d sought when I walked away from Diego, from Huckleberry Creek, from a different vision of myself.
