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“I was going to let you down eventually,” I say quietly.
His arms drop to his sides quickly. “Don’t fucking do that. Do not do that right now.” The anger is starting to come out of him, too. Good.
“I know we had an agreement to do the competition—”
“An agreement?” he asks incredulously. “That’s all this was? Anagreement?” He has sucked all the joy out of his laughter. Instead, it sounds angry and strained.
“What else was this? You’re the professional dancer. You can find anybody else you want to partner with.”
“What else was this?Julie, are you listening to yourself right now? What are you even saying?” His voice is getting louder. “I don’t want anybody else to partner with.Youasked me to do this with you. And now you’re going to leave me stranded, after everything I told you about San Diego?”
“I can’t be the person you need me to be right now.” I’m already drowning in shame and guilt, might as well dump more on top.
“Because you don’t want to be.”
“That’s not true.” I shake my head back and forth.
“You’re walking away from this. Makes it pretty clear.”
“What am I supposed to do? Quit my job and do this?” I throw back at him.
“I never said that, but I see where you stand.”
“I can’t let go, Logan,” I say.
“Of your fancy lawyer job that you hate?”
“Well, that fancy lawyer job that I hate has been around longer than you or all of this!” My retort is full of spite and anger. It’s full of blame and sadness, too. “I have pushedallmy responsibilities aside for this dance, and it has fuckedeverythingup.”
“Nobody asked you to do that,” he says.
“I don’t want to play the blame game.”
“You walked in here playing the blame game!” he yells. “Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t go.” I shake my head. I know it’s not an answer, but I worry it’s the only one I can give.
“Is this about your family?” he presses, seemingly desperate for anything to save this decision. “You’re not responsible for their lives, Julie. And I know this might be hard to shake, but you don’t owe them anything.”
It’s another punch to the gut, one I can’t worry about tending to right now.
“I can’t go,” I repeat, but the words have lost their vigor.
“Youcan,” he insists.
“Whyare you pushing this so hard?” Now it’s my turn to yell.
He looks broken, like he shouldn’t have to tell me why he’s pushing so hard. Like I should know because we used to be on the same team. But he answers me anyway. “Because this was saving me, too.”
And I don’t know how I keep it together.
“I’m so tired.” I start to cry. “It’s not my job to save you.”
“Maybe I thought we were on the same page,” he says softly. “I thought this was something we both wanted. I can see now that I was wrong.”
I know I’ve let him down, and I don’t think I can stand here much longer. I’m about to walk to the door, but he beats me to it: “Please leave.”
And so, I do.
