Rose did not blink. The studio mirrors caught us from three directions, leaving nowhere useful to look.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Then you knew enough.”
The mirror offered the person I had spent years pretending not to be. Coward. Liar. Fraud. I found the labels easily. Rose seemed to read them.
“Do not turn shame into an escape route,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You are about to decide this proves you destroy everything.”
“I did.”
“You made a choice.”
“That destroyed everything.”
“You do not know that.”
“Amy did not say she loved me back.”
Rose’s reserve eased for half a second, then returned.
“This is not about whether she reassures you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
My prepared apology rose in my throat, crowded with reasons. Rose waited until I swallowed them.
“Apologize.”
“Without explanation?”
“I need to explain.”
“No. You need to take responsibility. Explanation comes after, if she wants it.”
I stood. My legs had gone stiff.
“What about the race?”
“You are not training under me.”
Losing Rose’s oversight struck.
“Rose.”
