Because of him.
At midnight, he dropped me off at the hotel. We kissed like maniacs before we finally had to let go. When I shut the car door, the window was still down, and I leaned in for one last look, our fingers tangled together. “This is the best first date I’ve ever been on.”
He smiled. “Me too.”
Dinner was already halfway done when I finally told them.
“I had a really good day yesterday,” I said, cutting into my food. “A good date.”
My mom froze first, fork hovering midair. Since I was leaving soon, we weren’t down at the restaurant tonight—we were having dinner in my parents’ cabin instead.
“A date?” she echoed, careful not to sound overeager. Even though she totally was.
I nodded, pressing my lips together to stop myself from grinning too wide.
My dad glanced up from his plate. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Really good.”
They exchanged a look—the quiet, married kind—and my dad leaned back slightly in his chair. “That’s good, son.”
I took a breath. “It actually made me think about something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Now they were both focused on me.
“I still want the internship,” I said quickly, before they could make the wrong assumption. “But I don’t want to do it somewhere everyone already knows me.”
My dad didn’t interrupt.
“I was thinking LA,” I continued. “Nobody cares who I am there. I’d have to earn it.”
My mom reached for her glass, listening carefully.
“And I was wondering,” I said, steady now, “if you’d be okay holding my trust for a little longer. Not forever. Just until I figure out what I actually want to build with it.”
Silence settled over the table.
My dad was the first to break it. “You want to learn how to work for it.”
“Yes.”
“Not hide behind it.”
“No.”
He studied me for a long second, then nodded once. “That’s a good instinct.”
My mom smiled—soft, proud in a way that made my throat tighten. “You sound sure of yourself.”
“I am.” And it was true.
I’d still do the jumps every once in a while. Not because I needed the danger, not anymore, but because they centered me. Because standing at the edge, feeling the wind, choosing when to step off reminded me that I was in control—that fear didn’t get to decide for me. I knew my limits. Iknew my body. I trusted myself to walk away when it stopped being about joy and started being about escape.
But this way, I could focus on work too. On building something that lasted longer than a rush, something that didn’t disappear the second my feet hit water.
And it didn’t hurt that LA was closer to him.
I smiled to myself—because what was getting my blood going right now wasn’t adrenaline or chasing the next drop. It was planning for a future that might actually be mine.
