I could already see the press conference.
I would stand beside Mila. Smile at the appropriate moments. Say the right things. Thank the federation. Thank the coaches.
Everyone would relax. The story would make sense again. The version of me they preferred would survive.
And the real one would disappear right in front of them.
Every time somebody called me disciplined, professional, dedicated, I would remember standing here with Dean and walking away.
“I do not think I could survive that.”
The frightening part was that I meant it.
Dean looked at me for a very long time before speaking. “I’m not asking you to burn your life down.”
“I know.”
“But if you think forgetting me is the safer option…” His voice quavered. “You’re wrong.”
Pain lanced through me.
“Because it won’t be forgetting,” he continued. “It’ll be erasing.”
Bože.
He understood too much. I had spent the entire evening trying to describe the cost.
Dean had found the one word I had been avoiding.
“I do not want Milan to become a secret I survived,” I whispered.
Dean’s eyes held mine. “Then don’t survive it.”
The sentence hit like a match dropped into dry air.
I exhaled shakily.
“I keep imagining arriving back in Velkarya,” I admitted. “Press waiting. Federation officials smiling. My father standing perfectly straight beside them.” My mouth tightened. “I know exactly what to say, how to behave.”
“And?”
“And I would feel…” I stopped, reaching for the words. “Like I had abandoned something essential here.”
The answer sat so close to the surface that saying it felt dangerous.
I wasn’t ready to hear it aloud.
Dean reached across, resting one hand against my waist, not in an attempt to pull me closer, but simply there, steady.
“You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”
Raw emotion surged so violently through me that I had to lock my knees to remain standing.
Because he wasn’t asking me for anything but honesty
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I turned away.
“Hey.” Dean’s voice softened further. “Look at me.”
