Because I’m finally brave enough to admit it.
All of those things are true, and none of them are enough.
“I’m here,” I say carefully, “because I want to earn the right to be in your life again.”
Rafe’s expression shifts slightly, something like pain flickering through. “You don’t get to earn it with a grand gesture,” he says.
“I know.”
“And you don’t get to earn it with one kiss,” he adds, sharper.
“I know.”
His jaw clenches. “Then what are you offering me?”
My heart stumbles. “The truth.”
Rafe’s eyes narrow. “The truth?”
“Yes,” I say, and the word feels like a vow. “Not a performance. Not a promise I can’t keep. Just… the truth.”
He stares at me for a long time. The kitchen hums with quiet—the refrigerator, the faint sound of water settling in the glass, the city distant beyond the walls.
Finally, Rafe speaks, voice rough. “I can’t blindly accept you back.”
“I wouldn’t respect you if you did,” I say, and it’s honest.
His mouth twitches, almost a smile, then disappears. “You’re still… fucking good at saying the right thing.”
I flinch. “I’m not trying to?—”
“I know,” he cuts in, softer. “I’m just—” He looks away again, jaw tight. “I’m trying to understand how you can stand here after kissing me in front of a room full of people and still act like you’re not terrified.”
I let out a breath. “I am terrified.”
Rafe’s attention snaps back to me.
“I’m just… not running,” I add. “Or hiding.”
He stares.
I swallow. “That’s new for me.”
Something in his face shifts—recognition, maybe. Like he sees the change even if he doesn’t trust it yet.
I pick up the water again, more for something to do with my hands than thirst. “I’m not naïve,” I say quietly. “I know what I did tonight doesn’t stay in that room.”
Rafe’s gaze sharpens.
“There were phones,” I continue. “There are always phones. And people talk. Especially people with something to gain from being first.”
His jaw hardens.
“So I’m not pretending this can be contained,” I say. “It can’t.” Taut silence hums between us. “But I’m also not going to stand in front of a microphone tomorrow and suddenly give the world a perfectly labeled version of myself,” I add carefully. “Not because I’m ashamed. And not because of you.”
Rafe’s expression is hard now, guarded.
“I’m saying it because I’ve spent my entire career letting other people decide the narrative for me,” I continue, voice steady even as my chest constricts. “And I’m done lying—but I’m also done performing.”
