Page 168 of The Best Shot

“No.”

“It was a good life. Just…small. I’d built the walls in too close, and by the time I noticed, I was used to keeping them there. Then you left.”

She lifted her head.

“I’m going to make it bigger,” I said. “For you. And for me. Mostly for me.”

“What changed?” she asked, quiet.

“My father told me to go.”

Her brow pulled together. “He knew?”

“No.” I swallowed. “He didn’t know he was talking to me. Didn’t know he was talking about himself.”

I told her about the park. The chess game.

“And he told you to go?” she asked.

“He told me my father would want me to. I’ve been telling myself I stayed because he needed me. Some of that was true.”

“But?”

“I was scared,” I said. “You saw it before I did. I’d made my world smaller than it needed to be.”

“What?”

“The study. That first night at the farmhouse. You said my life didn’t make sense.”

“Hale,” she whispered, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t⁠—”

“No. You were right, in a way.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, but I’d gotten too comfortable standing still.” I held her gaze. “You were the reason I wanted to leave. And you’re the reason I want to come home.”

Her breath caught, and she kissed me again, slower this time, like she was making sure. When she pulled back, her eyes were wet.

“You told me you loved me at the airport,” I said. “I heard you.”

“I know, I was there.”

“I should have said it back.”

“Hale,” she smiled. “I knew.”

“Still should have said it.” My hand tightened around hers. “I love you, Yasmine.”

The breath that left her shook on the way out.

I kissed her forehead.

Then her cheek.

Then her mouth.

“Ten days,” she said.