Amy slept inches away. I did not need a text. I could say her name. I could tolerate the questions. I could lose the entry and learn whether the desire survived. My thumb hovered. Pressure gathered under my sternum—not full panic, only the old certainty that delay meant the brave version of me would disappear. I deleted the message. At eleven thirty-eight, I registered.
Relief came first. Then the confirmation email arrived. It confirmed my place and stated that my name, charity, and fundraising page would appear on the public Community Partners roster by Monday morning. The fact became larger than the category I had used to excuse it. I had not preserved an option. I had acted before the two people supporting my return could interfere with the outcome I wanted. I put the phone facedown. Morning became the next hiding place.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Truth Comes Out
Amy
On Monday, August eighteenth, the morning after I told Dani I loved her, I woke at five twelve with my left leg trapped beneath hers and the ice pack melted into a warm plastic bag on the floor. This was not an ideal recovery position. It was, however, emotionally satisfying. Dani slept on her stomach with one arm across my waist. Her face was turned toward me, hair spread over the pillow, expression unguarded.
She looked younger asleep. Less like the person who could command a room full of strangers through burpees. Less like the woman who carried three years of unfinished races behind every joke. More like someone who trusted me enough to become heavy. I watched her breathe. Then she opened one eye.
“You’re staring.”
“I am assessing whether your arm has caused nerve compression.”
“Romantic.”
“My fingers are tingling.”
She lifted her arm. Blood returned immediately.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still love me?”
She made the question sound teasing; the vulnerability beneath it was not. “Yes.”
Dani’s face softened.
“Good.”
“You?”
“Unfortunately.”
“That is not a correct response.”
“I love you in a deeply inconvenient way.”
“Acceptable.”
She moved closer and kissed me. Morning breath reduced the cinematic quality. The feeling remained. When we separated, Dani rested her forehead against mine.
“Say it again,” she said.
“I love you.”
She smiled. Then her phone alarm began playing the same song that had nearly caused structural damage at the hotel. I reached for the melted ice pack. She caught my wrist.
“Stay.”
“I need to prepare for work.”
“Five minutes.”
