The accusation stings precisely because it's true. I'm terrified—of rejection, of hope, of the vast unknown beyond this land that's always defined me.
“What would I even say to her?” I ask, my voice smaller than I'd like.
“Start with 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you,'” Lily suggests. “The rest will follow.”
“Love?” The word feels foreign on my tongue. “I never said—”
“Oh, please.” Lily rolls her eyes. “You've been in love with her since she fell into your lap in yoga. Everyone sees it but you.”
Have I? The realization crashes through me like summer lightning—sudden, illuminating, changing the landscape in an instant. I love Mia Bonney. Not just want her, not just miss her. Love her.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
Mason's mouth quirks up at one corner. “And the light dawns.”
“I love her.” The words feel right, necessary. “Ifuckinglove her.”
“Congratulations on your emotional puberty,” Christian deadpans, but his eyes are soft. “Now what are you going to do about it?”
The answer comes with startling clarity. “I'm going to London.”
“Damn straight you are.” Lily's fingers fly over her phone screen. “There's a flight tomorrow afternoon. I'm booking it.”
“Wait, I need to—”
“Nope. No backing out.” She cuts me off, Christian already giving him his Air mile information. “You're going tomorrow, even if we have to tranquilize you and check you as emotional support livestock.”
I look to Mason for help, but his expression says I'll find none there.
“What about my arm? Security won't—”
“Medical documentation,” Mason interrupts. “I'll get it from Dr. Malan tonight.”
They're railroading me, all three of them, but something unfamiliar unfurls in my chest—something that feels suspiciously like gratitude.
“I've never even been on a plane,” I admit.
“Time to pop that cherry, then.” Lily grins triumphantly. “Booked! You leave at 9:15pm tomorrow. I'll drive you to the airport.”
Reality starts crashing in—passport, packing, what to say, where to find her. “This is insane. I don't even know where she's staying or—”
“Details.” Lily waves dismissively. “You're Grant Taylor. You'll figure it out. Call her friend Brè, do whatever, but just get there.” Lily and Christian turn to head back inside.
For some reason, the memory of that long-ago bar fight flashes again—Mason and me, bruised and bloodied, walking home after somehow surviving against impossible odds.
“Why'd you step in?” I'd asked him then. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Some fights are worth taking,” he'd answered, “even when you might lose.”
I look at him now, this friend who's seen me through my darkest moments, and he nods once, understanding passing between us.
“Some fights are worth taking,” I echo softly.
“Even with one arm in a cast,” he agrees.
Inside, the party continues, oblivious to the seismic shift occurring on the back porch. This has somehow turned into a farewell party. I'll have to make excuses, pack somehow, preparefor a journey I've never imagined taking. But beneath the logistics and fear runs a current of certainty I haven't felt since Mia left.
I love her. And maybe, just maybe, that's worth crossing an ocean for.
