45. Mariana
Mariana
I have a plan, a real plan, not just words, not just a half-hearted apology—because words can be empty, words can be said in a moment of desperation and taken back just as easily.
Sebastian deserves more than that; he deserves proof, he deserves action. He deserves to see that I’m not just saying I won’t leave again—I’m showing him. I’m choosing him, with every single step, with every single breath.
I drive through town with my heart lodged in my throat, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. It has to be perfect. It’s late, but I know where he’ll be. The firehouse. He’s always at the firehouse on Wednesdays.
The hoodie sitting in the seat beside me, his hoodie, the one I never gave back. The one I’ve kept through every mistake, through every lonely night, through every moment I tried to convince myself that walking away was the right choice.
The book tucked into my bag, his favorite one, with the note I wrote inside, the one he left on my nightstand after the first time he told me he loved me.
The words I’ve been rehearsing in my head over and over again, the things I should have said before I ever let my fear win.
I don’t just want to tell him I love him.
I want him to feel it. I want him to see it in the things I kept, in the pieces of him I never let go of, in the way I’m standing here now, ready to fight for him.
This is more than just an apology, it’s a promise.
I swallow hard, my pulse roaring in my ears as I turn onto his street, the firehouse coming into view…the bay doors are open, the station alive with movement.
A few trucks are parked outside, their reflective decals catching the glow of the overhead lights. Through the window, I can see movement—firefighters checking gear, talking, laughing at something I can’t quite make out. The kitchen light is on, a warm glow against the night. But he’s not there.
This doesn’t make sense. Sebastian is always here on Wednesdays.
My heart stutters, panic clawing its way up my throat.
No.
No, no, no. This wasn’t the plan.
I slam the car into park and all but stumble out, my breath coming too fast, my pulse hammering like a war drum against my ribs. The cold air slices through me, but I barely feel it. I was supposed to find him here. I was supposed to pull him outside, tell him everything, make him believe me.
I push open the firehouse doors, the scent of smoke and coffee hitting me instantly. The warmth of the station wraps around me, the hum of familiarity pressing in from all sides.
Boots thud against the floor, voices carry, the radio crackles faintly in the background. This place has always meant home to him. It’s supposed to lead me to him, but it doesn’t.
I grip the strap of my bag, my fingers clenching tight, my breath unsteady; this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Mateo is the first one to see me, his eyes flick over me, taking in the urgency, the desperation, the sheer fucking panic.
“Where is he?” I ask, breathless.
His brows furrow. “Not here.”
The air leaves my lungs. “But he—” I shake my head. “He’s always here.”
Mateo crosses his arms. “Not tonight.”
I press a hand against my chest, trying to keep my racing heart from breaking free. I swallow hard. “Then where-”
Mateo exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, like he’s debating whether or not to tell me, then, reluctantly, “Try the lake.”
My stomach twists. The lake. I don’t thank Mateo, I don’t say anything. I just run.
By the time I get to the lake, the sky has opened up. The downpour is relentless—thick sheets of rain hammering against the truck, my windshield wipers barely keeping up.
My stomach churns as I throw the door open and step into the storm. I should be scared. I should be second-guessing myself. But I’m not, because I see him.
He’s standing by the water, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head tilted toward the sky like he’s waiting for it to tell him something. My chest constricts, a desperate hope clawing its way to the surface—please don’t let me be too late.
“Sebastian!” I shout over the storm, my voice ragged from everything I’ve been holding in.
His head snaps toward me, eyes wide with surprise…and concern. “Mariana?” His voice cuts through the rain, sharp and worried. He starts toward me, his brow furrowed. “What the hell are you doing-”
“This is not how it was supposed to go!” I cut him off, laughing and crying all at once, my hands shaking as I pushed drenched hair out of my face.
Sebastian slows, eyes scanning my face, his own expression unreadable. “Are you okay?”
“No!” I bark out another wet laugh, because this—this was supposed to be perfect. But it’s not. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s here, I love him so much.
I step closer, not letting him get a word in. “I had a plan,” I tell him, forcing the words past the fear lodged in my throat. “It was a good plan. Solid. Thought-out. Romantic as hell.”
A flicker of something crosses his face.
“But nothing about us has ever gone according to plan, has it?” I whisper.
Sebastian stays quiet, his chest rising and falling too quickly.
I reach into my bag and pull out his hoodie. The old, worn one I stole from him when we were in high school, the one I’ve refused to throw away. The one that still, somehow, smells like him. Sebastian’s breath catches. I shove it against his chest.
His fingers curl around the fabric instinctively. “Mari, what-”
“I kept it,” I whisper. “This whole time, I kept it. Even when I left, even when I swore I was moving on. I kept it because-” I shake my head, choking on my own confession. “Because I was never moving on. Because I never stopped loving you.”
His throat bobs. Hard.
I take another step, closing the distance between us, and forcing him to look at me.
“I was scared, Sebastian.” My voice is shaking.
“I was scared of needing you too much. I was scared of loving you too much.” I press a fist against my chest, over my heart, over my mother’s words.
“But I lost you anyway, and it wrecked me.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenches, like he’s trying to keep himself together.
I grab his face, my fingers trembling, my thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” I whisper.
“I want to be brave.” The words pour out of me, raw and desperate, carried by the storm raging around us.
Rain soaks through my clothes, clings to my skin, drips from my lashes, but I don’t care. I have one chance to get this right.
I step closer, my pulse hammering, my hands shaking at my sides. His expression is unreadable, stunned, wary, guarded in a way that guts me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
“I choose you,” I tell him, my voice breaking, my breath unsteady.
“Every damn day.” My fingers curl into fists.
“No matter how scary it gets. No matter how much it hurts. No matter how much my brain tries to tell me to run, to protect myself, to keep my heart safe.” I exhale sharply, shaking my head.
“I don’t want to be safe anymore, Seb. I want you. ”
Thunder rumbles overhead, a deep, vibrating pulse that shakes the ground beneath us, but it’s nothing compared to the way my world tilts, the way everything inside me cracks wide open.
“You are it for me, Sebastian Antonio Garcia,” I whisper, my voice fierce, unwavering now.
“It’s always been you. It’s only ever been you.
” My throat tightens, tears mixing with the rain as I take another step toward him, bridging the distance, reaching for him even though I don’t know if he’ll let me.
His chest rises and falls unevenly, his eyes dark and unreadable beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken, hasn’t given me any indication of what he’s thinking, or whether I’m too late. Fear creeps in, but I shove it down.
“I am never leaving you again,” I swear, my voice thick, fierce with the weight of the promise. “Not because I need you to fix me, not because I don’t know how to be without you, but because I love you. I will fight for you. I will fight for us. Every single day, for the rest of my life.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged, the rain pounding against the pavement, our breaths the only thing cutting through the storm. And then…something breaks, his control, his hesitation, the last of the walls between us. Because suddenly, he’s moving—a sharp, desperate pull forward.
A crash of bodies, heat and cold colliding as his hands grip my soaked clothes, his fingers curling into the fabric like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
His mouth is on mine—fierce, claiming, aching.
It’s not soft or careful, it’s raw, it’s wrecked, it’s everything.
I gasp against him, but I don’t pull away, I press closer.
I let him feel every inch of my promise. Every breath, every heartbeat, every ounce of certainty. I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, anchoring myself to him, to this moment, to the only thing that has ever felt this real.
This time, I’m the one who’s sure. This time, I’m the one who’s fighting. This time, I’m never letting him go.