“I’m in trouble,” I tell her sleeping form hours later. “Winters is coming after me and I don’t know how to stop it. And Roman wants to help but if Winters finds out about us, that’s it. That’s proof of everything he’s been implying.”
She doesn’t answer. Just breathes steadily, peacefully, while I fall apart in the chair beside her.
I reach for my phone that’s been buzzing in my purse for the past half hour.
Roman
Winters doesn’t have anything on you. Let me help.
But he can’t help. That’s the problem.
His help looks like forty-seven PT sessions. Looks like preferential treatment. Looks like exactly what Winters is building his case around.
I need some space. Just for a few days. To figure this out.
Roman
No.
Please.
He doesn’t respond for a long time. Long enough that I think maybe he’s done, maybe he’s finally tired of my panic and my pulling away and my inability to just handle things like a functional adult.
Roman
Okay. Space. But Marnie? This doesn’t solve anything. You know that, right?
I do know that.
But I don’t know what else to do.
Three days.
Three days of maintaining perfect professional distance. Of documenting every interaction. Of avoiding Roman in hallways and training rooms and anywhere someone might see and add it to Winters’ folder.
Three days of Jake asking if I’m okay and me lying. Of Rodriguez looking concerned during his PT sessions. Of the team dinner invitation from Dex that I can’t accept because what if Winters finds out, what if someone takes a photo, what if it’s more ammunition.
Three days of going to hospice after work and sitting with Mom who doesn’t know me more often than she does. Of falling asleep in that chair because at least there no one’s watching, documenting, building cases.
Three days of Roman respecting the space I asked for, even though I can see it’s killing him. Can see it in the careful way he doesn’t approach me. The way he stopped texting. The way he looks at me across the training room like I’m something fragile that might shatter if he gets too close.
He’s giving me what I asked for.
And it’s destroying us both.
On the third night, I’m sitting in the dark staring at unanswered texts from Roman. At the team dinner invitation I declined. At the calendar reminder that Mom’s been in hospice for weeks and the nurse keeps using words like “any day now.”
I’m trying to protect my career. Trying to protect Roman from being dragged into Winters’ case. Trying to protect something.
But all I’m actually doing is sitting alone, watching everything I care about slip away while I document it in meticulous detail.
My phone chimes and I almost don’t check it. I can’t stand to read Roman’s messages and it’s breaking my heart to ignore them.
Barrett
Team dinner next Saturday. Spouses and significant others invited. Hope to see you there.
I stare at the message for a long time.
