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She rests her forehead against mine, her body shaking with tears.
“And you don’t have to do a damn thing to keep it,” I say. “It’s yours for the taking.”
I just hope you choose to take it.
“I wanted to tell you this before,” she says. “I almost told you last night and the night before that. At Ann’s office today, before I knew about the article, I decided to do it. To tell you tonight.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “But this isn’t how I wanted it to go.”
“Well, this is how it went. And it’s over now.”
“Is it? Because your whole team must’ve seen it by now. Your family.” She shakes her head. “You have to be humiliated.”
“Me?” I grin. “Come on. I’m friends with Branch. I’ve been humiliated before, and this isn’t it.”
She tries not to grin. “I’m being serious. You told me that the GM has already warned you about being a distraction. I’m guessing that hearing that your fiancée is a … monster … is going to be a talking point in the locker room.”
“What if it is?”
“It’s your job.” She pushes my hands down, irritated. “This situation has caused me so much grief. I can’t stand the thought of it hurting you, too.”
“Poppy, I don’t give a fuck about any of this.”
“But I do.” She climbs off my lap and stands, straightening her shirt. “And I believe you when you say you don’t. But this is a lot, Finn. For both of us. I’ve spent years being afraid of what would happen if someone knew everything about me. And now … you do.” She takes a breath. “And I’m okay.”
She says the last part as if the idea is just settling into her brain.
I stand, too. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that this isn’t over. It’s not that easy. And I think ten minutes after we’ve discussed this is way too soon to write it off into the past.”
“You think you know how I’m going to feel tomorrow? Because I know how I feel, and I feel the same way about you right now as I did yesterday and the month before that and the year before that. You don’t get to spare me consequences that I haven’t asked to be spared—that you don’t even know will happen.”
“Okay. Do you think I’ll ever want to be around your friends? To go to a game? Knowing that they’ve all read this crap and probably somewhat believe it. Because you know where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
I stare at her. “What are you getting at, Pop?”
She takes a breath, lifting her chin. “I’m saying that I’m going home tonight and giving us both some space.”
“I don’t want space. It’s the last thing I want tonight.”
“I know you don’t want it. But I do. Not because I think you’re going to change your mind about me. But because for the first time in a decade, I’m not afraid of what happens next.” She swallows. “I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anyone. Every dirty part. Everything that I’ve been ashamed of. Things I’ve tried to run from my whole adult life.” She reaches out and touches my cheek. “And you still look at me the same way.”
“Of course, I do.”
Her eyes fill with tears again. “I need to sit with that … and I need to let it process. To believe it. To wrap my head around the fact that I can be me and still be loved. And I want you to have time to think about this, too. I need us both to know that whatever happens next happens because we want it to. Not because we felt obligated or like we had to.”
“Dammit, Poppy.”
Her words hurt. A lot. Not necessarily because she’s leaving, although that feels like a punch in the gut. They hurt because I know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, and I just want to make it better. Erase everything that fucker said to her, made her believe. Hold her in the way I know she needs.
But if she thinks she needs time, then I’ll give that to her. I’d give her the world if she asked. And at the end of the day, I guess this is the only way to prove it.
Just like I had to prove to her that we were more than friends with benefits.
At least she’s not running from me. She’s not making a decision out of fear. She’s making one because she knows she can, and she’s just asking me to respect her choice even though it’s the last damn thing I want. It sucks, badly, but I can’t tell her that I love her exactly the way she is and then refuse to let her be that person.
“Fine,” I say, the words scraping my throat. “If you really want to go home, then go. You know where I’ll be. And I’ll be wherever you are if you call. Or text. Or yell loud enough from the other side of town.”
She grins. “Noted.”
