Page 113 of Between Love and War
“Coach wants me back for the Comeback training,” Michael continues, “then the pre-SEA Games training camp.” He gives a small shrug. “At first I thought I didn't want it, but a part of me still knows I should do it, you know?”
I manage a smile. “You belong there.”
His eyes search mine. “I belong here too.”
“No,” I say, gently. “You were always just visiting.”
Michael shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this smaller than it is. Or make you smaller than you are.”
I look away. It would be easier if he’d messed up. If he’d forgotten a date or missed a call or slowly faded out. But no. He’s been here. Present. Kind. Honest. He's made me laugh. Made me feel seen. Gave me strength. Gave me courage. Showed me that even softnessiscourage.
And now he’s doing what he was always meant to do. And I’m still someone stuck in the life someone decided for me. And even if I took a step toward my dream, it still wouldn’t be as grand as his life. I don’t know how to love someone who lives in lights. I don’t know how to be someone he doesn’t have to shrink for.
“I don’t know how to be with someone who has a big life,” I admit, voice small. “I don’t think I was built for it.”
His expression softens. “Katie… You’ve made me better than anyone ever has.”
“You say I make you better,” I continue, “but maybe you only liked me because this place slowed you down. Because you were lost, and I was… convenient.”
His brow furrows. “You think I just needed a distraction?”
“No,” I say. “I think you needed a safe place to land while you were figuring things out. And I was that for a while. But you’re not lost anymore. And I—I don’t want to be the reason you ever feel stuck again.”
“I don’t feel stuck,” he says. “I feel anchored.”
“But you still have to go,” I whisper.
He’s silent for a moment. Then nods. “Yeah. I do.”
I swallow hard. “Then let’s not make this harder than it already is.”
He reaches for my hand. “Kate. Please. We don’t have to end it just because I’m leaving. We can call, text, visit. People do long distance all the time. We can make our own rules. It doesn’t have to look like anything but us.”
I want to believe him. But I know myself. I know the way I retreat into silence. How I stop replying to messages when I feel overwhelmed. How I convince myself I’m not worth the effort. And Michael Lee deserves someone who doesn’t doubt herself every time the lights get too bright.
“I just don’t want to be the thing that dims your light,” I say.
“You never have been,” he says, holding my gaze. “You were the reason I remembered I had any light left at all.”
A tear slips out, traitorous and fast. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.
He looks at me, as if going through his own spiraling.
“I’m proud of you,” I add. “You’re not just the guy on the court. You’re the man who kneels down to tie shoelaces and reads stories and asks me if I’ve eaten lunch. And I realized that I want both versions of you. But only one of them felt… mine.”
“Both guys are yours, Kate.”
“I don’t want to hold you back,” I say.
He shakes his head, fast. “I…” he starts. “I don’t know how to exist without you anymore.”
“We’ll still talk,” I say, tears falling but I’m smiling. I look like the Joker. “You can still text me when you burn toast or if you skipped your protein lunch and opted for pizza.”
He grins, eyes glassy, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he says, “And you can text me when your cookies sell out or one of the kids tells you you’re their favorite.”
We both smile with our eyes watering. There’s a long silence before he says, “You’ll text me when you go on a date with that balding single dad?”
I let out a watery laugh. “He’s not balding.”
