“No,” I mutter. The stab of disappointment nearly doubles me over. “But he’s… respecting my space. That’s what I asked for.”
“Is it?” she challenges. “Because you look like hell. And not in the cute, mascara-smudge, lived-in heartbreak way. In thetorturing yourselfway.”
“I'm just tired.” I mumble, lying through my teeth.
“Bullshit.”
My head jerks up.
“Honey I love you,” she continues “but you ran from your dad's overprotection straight into a life of constant motion. Never staying anywhere long enough to build something real. You’re running so hard from anything that feels too real, too big, too risky—because you’re terrified it might actually begood.”
Her voice is gentle “The one time you accidentally put down even shallow roots—with the Taylors, with Grant—you bolted at the first sign of complication.”
“But…but, he lied to me,” I remind her, but even to my own ears, it sounds like a weak excuse.
“Yeah, he omitted to telling you. And it was wrong. But I don’t think it was intentional. People who have never felt real fear don't make mistakes like that. He was terrified of losing you, Mia.” She leans closer to the camera. “Just like you were terrified of staying.”
Her words gut me. It’s not a slap—it’s a quiet, brutal truth. And it lands right where I’m already cracked.
We sit in silence as her words sink in. Is she right? Have I been the architect of my own loneliness all these years?
“Even if that's true,” I finally say, “what am I supposed to do about it now? I'm in London. I have obligations, contracts.”
“I'm not saying drop everything and run back to Cowboy Ken. I'm saying maybe it's time to stop running away from the feelings instead of facing them.”
She gives me a knowing look. “How's the training really going?”
“Physically, great. Mentally...” I trail off, remembering Mikhailov and Coach Suzi’s assessments. “My coach thinks I'm distracted.”
“No shit.”
“But I've improved my times! I'm stronger than before.”
“And completely miserable, which isn't sustainable.” She sighs. “Look, I know a thing or two about running from feelings. I’m going on a date with a guy I really like, by the way.”
This pulls me out of my self-absorption. “You are? When?” grateful of the change in topic.
“We're having dinner tomorrow night. I'm terrified.”
“Brè! That's huge. Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you've been doing your best impression of a zombie in Speedos.” She smiles softly. “I took your advice. I decided I'd rather know if there's something real there than always wonder what might have been.”
“That's...” I search for words. “Brave.”
“Yep. And you know what's not brave? Hiding in London pretending that what happened in Texas didn't change you.”
I fall back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. “I don't know if I can do brave right now.”
“Nobody said growth was comfortable, Bonney.”
“Don’t let the one you love, be the one that got away because you were scared to admit he got in.”
And just like that, the truth unravels inside me.
I’m in love.
Deep, aching, soul-level love.
