40. Addison
Addison
Tuesday was stupid.
I went to work the next day because I didn’t know what else to do. That was the honest answer. If I stopped moving, if I sat still long enough to think about what had happened last night, I was almost certain I would fall apart in a way I couldn’t put back together.
So, I showed up. I logged on. I answered emails. I sat through meetings with my camera on and my voice steady, nodding at the right moments and saying, “That makes sense,” or “I’ll follow up on that,” as if my world hadn’t quietly split open sometime after midnight.
I was a mess. My mascara smudged before noon because I kept forgetting not to rub my eyes.
I drank cup after cup of coffee and tasted none of it.
My leg bounced under the desk in a constant, frantic rhythm I couldn’t stop.
Every few minutes, my eyes flicked toward my phone, waiting for the screen to light up.
Nothing.
No text. No call. By mid-afternoon my hands were shaking.
I told myself it was adrenaline. Residual stress from the fight the night before. I told myself Sawyer needed space, that this was what space looked like, that everything was probably fine and I was spiraling because spiraling was something I was very, very good at.
I told myself a lot of things.
At 5:28 p.m., my phone rang.
Benji.
The sight of his name on the screen sent a cold, violent drop through my stomach, like my body had suddenly forgotten how to stand upright.
I answered on the first ring.
“Benji?” I said quickly.
He didn’t say hello. “Addie,” he said, and the sound of his voice was wrong. Tight. Careful. Like he was bracing himself. “I need you to listen to me, okay?”
My chair scraped loudly against the floor as I stood.
“What happened?” I asked.
There was a pause. Not long. But long enough to feel deliberate. “There was an accident,” he said quietly. “Sawyer was on her bike. A car ran a red light.”
The room tilted. I grabbed the edge of my desk, my fingers digging into the wood as my balance faltered.
“What do you mean an accident?” I asked, my voice thin and unfamiliar.
“She got hit,” he said. “An ambulance took her. They—Addie, I don’t know a lot. They took her straight into surgery.”
My ears rang so loudly it drowned out the rest of the office.
“Surgery?” I repeated. “What kind of surgery?”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly. “I don’t know yet. They wouldn’t tell me much. She was conscious when they took her, but everything moved fast. I’m already on my way to the hospital.”
My lungs refused to work. “I’m coming,” I said automatically. I didn’t remember deciding it. My body was already moving, grabbing my bag, my coat, my keys. “I’m coming right now.”
“I know,” Benji said quietly. “I figured you would.”
My vision blurred. “Is she—Benji, is she—” My voice collapsed halfway through the sentence.
“I don’t know how bad it is yet, Addie,” his voice cracked just enough to destroy the thin thread holding me together. “I swear to you, if I knew more, I’d tell you.”
I pressed my hand flat against the office wall, trying to steady my shaking knees.
“She’s in surgery,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“I’m coming,” I said again, because it was the only sentence my brain could still form.
“Addie,” he said softly. “Before you come… if there’s anything you need to do first, do it. Don’t walk into that hospital carrying something unfinished.”
I closed my eyes. Because I knew exactly what he meant.
“I know,” I whispered.
The call ended. For half a second, I stood there with the phone still pressed to my ear, my whole body trembling like I had been dropped into freezing water.
Then I moved. I got into my car. And instead of driving toward the hospital, I turned the wheel the other way.
* * *
My mother was in the kitchen when I walked in. She wore an apron and stood over the stove, stirring something that smelled like heaven, the house wrapped in the same polished comfort I had spent my entire life performing inside.
“Addison?” she asked as she turned toward me. “What are you doing here?”
I didn’t take off my coat. I didn’t even close the door all the way behind me.
My father appeared in the doorway a second later, concern already forming across his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he stepped forward.
I dropped my bag by the door. It hit the floor with a loud thud that made both of them jump.
“You don’t have to find me a date anymore.”
My voice was shaky but not because I was scared of my parents reaction, because I was afraid maybe I had waited to long to do this.
My mother blinked. “What?” she asked.
“You don’t have to find me a date… Not for the wedding. Not for anything. I’ve already met someone.”
My hands were shaking so badly I pressed them against my ribs.
“I’m in love with her,” I said as tears spilled down my face. “I’m so in love with her.”
The words hung in the room.
I laughed once, but it came out broken. “God, they’re amazing. So funny and stubborn and kind. They makes me feel safe, so safe, and treats me better than I deserve and all I can think about right now is that I almost lost her because I was so afraid of this.”
My father took another step toward me. “Addie…”
“No,” I said as I shook my head hard. “Please don’t. Don’t slow this down because if I stop talking, I don’t know if I’ll be able to start again.”
My mother’s expression softened. “Honey,” she said carefully, “that’s wonderful. Why would we—”
“—Because her name is Sawyer,” I interrupted.
The silence was immediate. My mother’s face changed. “You don’t like women, Addison,” she said quietly.
“But I do.” My voice shook. “I always have.”
Neither of them spoke.
“I’ve just spent years pretending I didn’t because it was easier. Easier than disappointing everyone. Easier than being different. Easier than having this fucking conversation.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“When Benji came out, everything changed,” I said. “I watched you both struggle, and mom grieve, and treat him like he didn’t exist. I convinced myself I couldn’t do that to you again.”
My father’s shoulders stiffened.
“I didn’t want to be another thing that shattered whatever picture you had of your family,” I admitted. “So, I stayed quiet.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“I dated men. I smiled. I played along. I became whatever version of myself felt easiest to explain.” Tears blurred my vision again. “And I’m so tired.” The words came out as a whisper. “I’m so tired of pretending.”
My mother looked devastated. “Addison…”
“She was hit by a car,” I said suddenly. My voice broke into sobs now. “She’s in surgery right now.”
The room went silent again. “I got a call from Benji less than an hour ago, and I don’t even know if she’s okay.” My breath hitched. “I should already be at the hospital. I should already be with her.”
My hands trembled at my sides. “But I couldn’t walk into that hospital knowing I hadn’t told you the truth.” A tear slid down my cheek. “I love her.”
I looked directly at my mother. “I love her, and if she wakes up, I’m never pretending she’s anything less than the most important person in my life again.”
My mother opened her mouth, but I shook my head.
“Accept it or don’t,” I said as I grabbed my bag. “Be angry. Be disappointed. Take whatever time you need. Disown me. I can’t do this right now.”
My father’s face softened. “Addison,” he said gently.
I paused with my hand on the door. “I’m done pretending,” I told him. “I have to go.” Then I walked out.
I drove to the hospital with my hands shaking on the steering wheel, tears blurring the road, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Underneath the terror, underneath the image of Sawyer lying beneath bright operating lights behind closed doors, there was something else. Clarity.
I wasn’t split anymore. I wasn’t living two lives. Whatever happened next, Sawyer would never again be someone I erased when it mattered.
I parked crooked. I didn’t care. I ran. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of being seen.
* * *
I don’t remember walking through the doors. One moment I was running across the parking lot, lungs burning, vision blurred with tears. The next moment I was inside the hospital, fluorescent lights glaring overhead, the air too cold, my heart beating so violently I could hear it in my ears.
I scanned the waiting room. Then I saw them. Benji stood up instantly. Vic followed a second later, their hand flying to their mouth. Another woman I vaguely recognized, one of Sawyer’s friends, rose from a chair nearby.
They all moved toward me. Benji reached me first. He wrapped his arms around me tightly, grounding me in place, and the moment he did the last piece of my composure shattered. I sobbed into his shoulder, the sound raw and uncontrollable.
“She’s okay,” he murmured again and again as he held me. “She’s okay, Addie. She’s in surgery, but she’s okay.”
Vic hugged me next, fierce and protective. “She’s going to be fine,” they said, even though their voice trembled. “She’s stubborn as hell. This was never going to take her out.”
I pulled back, wiping my face. “What happened?” I asked.
Vic exhaled slowly. “Some asshole ran the red. The bike went down hard when she tried to avoid the car,” they explained. “She landed wrong. It’s her shoulder. Something with the joint. They had to take her back pretty quickly to fix it. And she got stitches near her eye.”
My knees nearly buckled with relief.
“She’s pretty beat up,” Vic added. “But she’s going to be fine. Bruised and sore.”
“Really?” I asked through tears.
“Yes,” Benji said immediately.
I laughed through a sob. “She’s not critical?”
“No,” Vic said firmly. “She’s scared. We were all scared. But she’s okay.” The word barely felt real.
Time stretched strangely after that. Minutes folded into each other while we waited. I held Benji’s hand like I needed proof he was real. Vic paced. Someone handed us water I forgot to drink.
All I could think about was the last thing I had said to Sawyer and the way she had walked away. When the doctor finally appeared, the room shifted. He spoke calmly, professionally.
“The surgery went very well,” he said. “She dislocated her shoulder during the fall and sustained ligament damage. We repaired it surgically. She also received stitches near her right eye. Those are superficial. Her helmet prevented any head injury.”
My hands trembled.
“She’s going to recover fully,” he continued. “Physical therapy will be important, but she should be back on her feet quickly.”
A sob escaped me.
“Can we see her?” Vic asked.
“One person for now,” the doctor replied. “Until she’s out of recovery.”
They didn’t hesitate. Benji stepped back and Vic nodded toward me. “Go,” they said softly. “She asked for you before she went in.”
My legs felt unsteady as I followed the nurse down the hallway. The room was quiet.
Sawyer lay propped up in the hospital bed, her arm secured in a sling. Her face was pale, a small bandage near her eye standing out against her skin. Her lashes fluttered. She was awake.
I didn’t speak. I just crossed the room and sat carefully beside her.
I pressed a kiss to her cheek. Then her forehead. Then the corner of her mouth.
“Oh my god,” I whispered. “You’re okay.”
Her eyes opened fully and found mine. “Hey,” she rasped. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “Don’t say that.”
Tears spilled down my face as I brushed my thumb along her cheek. “I love you,” I said, the words tumbling out without hesitation. “God, I love you so much.”
Sawyer blinked slowly. “You—what?” she asked weakly.
“I told my parents,” I said breathlessly. “Everything. I don’t care anymore. I want you at the wedding with me. I want everyone to know your it for me.”
Her tired eyes sharpened just slightly. “Wait,” she said hoarsely. “Back up.” Her lips curved into a faint, crooked smile. “Did you just say you love me?”
I nodded, pressing my forehead gently to hers. “Yes,” I whispered. “I love you.”
She exhaled slowly. “Okay,” she said softly. “Good. Because I was starting to think I was the only idiot falling this hard.”
I laughed through my tears. “Shut up,” I whispered. “And tell me you love me too.”
“I love you,” she said immediately.
Warmth settled between us. I kissed her again, carefully, my hand resting over her heart as it beat steadily beneath my palm.
Outside the room the world was still complicated and messy and full of expectations. But here, in that quiet hospital room, everything finally felt clear.
And for the first time since the phone rang, I could breathe.
* * *