“I wouldn’t say that. Iacquiredit.”
My eyes go wide. “What doesthatmean?”
He pulls a face. "I paid someone at Dr. Burke's office. One of the office staff. I signed some posters, gave her cash, and she gave me your file."
There it is. Laid out in the open air between us, flat and plain, with Gordie splashing in the water ten feet away like the world hasn't just tilted.
A flash of heat streaks through my veins.
"You bought my medical information? You paid for private records about my body. Things I chose not to share with anyone?"
He tilts his head. "Yes."
"How long have you had them?"
"Eleven months."
Eleven months. Since before the fire. Since before I moved into his house. Before the first time he kissed me, before I asked him to take my virginity. Before any of this, really.
"You've known everything about my ankle since before I lived with you." My voice has gone very quiet. "You got… what? The surgical notes? The prognosis?"
"All of it," he says. His hands are flat on his thighs, palms down, and he's watching my face with intense focus. “Your allergies to nuts. The broken elbow you had when you were 9. Everything.”
I stand up suddenly, because I can't sit next to him right now. The anger floods me, hot and immediate, burning behind my eyes. He invaded my privacy. He went behind my back and paid for information about my body that I specifically, deliberately chose to keep private. The one thing that was mine and mine alone, the injury and the recovery and the prognosis. I wanted to control it, and he took that from me without asking.
"That is so fucked up, Alex."
"I know."
"Do you? Because I don't think you do." I pace a few steps toward the water and then turn back to him. "I didn't tell Beck about the fracture details. I didn't tell my parents. I didn't tell Indie. That was my choice. My body, my medical information, my decision about who gets to know. And you just bought it like it was a pair of sneakers."
He doesn't argue. He doesn't defend himself or explain, or try to spin it into something noble. He just sits on the bench with his hands on his thighs and takes it.
"I decided what information to share about my own injury and you went around me," I continue, my voice cracking. "You can't do that to someone. You can't just collect their private information because you think you know better."
"You're right," he says. "I can't. I won't do it again."
"Damn right you won't."
I stand at the water's edge with my back to him and breathe. Gordie trots over and leans his wet body against my legs, soaking my leggings. I put my hand on his head and scratch behind his ears while my heartbeat slows down.
The anger is still there. But underneath it, something else is surfacing, and I can't push it away.
I sigh, frustrated. Thinking of how he reinforced the doorframe for my aerial silks without saying a word. He left ibuprofen on the kitchen counter on mornings when I was favoring my left side. He ordered oat milk creamers in four flavors because I made a face at his almond milk. He slowed his pace on this hike without me asking. He moved a stool into the kitchenso I could sit while I cooked. He shifted the sauna temperature down by three degrees because heat makes the swelling worse.
I never told him any of that. He figured it out from the medical file and then he just quietly did it.
It’s fucked up. It's also the most specific kind of love anyone has ever shown me. And it terrifies me down to my bones.
I turn around. Alex is still on the bench, still watching me, still waiting. His expression is raw in a way that I've never seen on him before. The golden boy has vanished, along with the smirk and the charm. He’s just a man who knows he did something wrong.
"It's really screwed up," I say again, quieter.
"It is."
"You can't ever do anything like that again. Not to me, not to anyone."
His deep blue eyes flash. "I won't."
