Chapter 7 Brian #2
"I've been on dates." She picked up her wine glass. "Just never made it past the third one."
"No... really?"
I tried not to think about what that implied
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"Yeah, actually."
The word came out before I could stop it. "You're—" I caught myself. "I just figured guys would be lining up."
"Lining up doesn't mean I let them in."
She looked up, tapping her chin with one finger. "There was a guy in med school. We had a backup plan. If neither of us was married by forty, we'd marry each other."
Something ugly flared in my chest. I had no right to it, but there it was.
"Where is he now?"
"Married." Her lips curved. "To his boyfriend."
The jealousy dissolved into something like relief.
Her attention shifted back to her plate. She twirled pasta around her fork, not looking at me. "What about you?"
The question hung in the air. I took a sip of wine, buying time.
"There was someone," I said finally. "Carmen. We were together for four years. Lived together for two."
Ava set down her fork. Giving me her full attention, the way she did, like nothing else in the world existed except the person in front of her.
"What happened?"
"She left." The words came easier than they used to. "Three weeks before I was going to propose. I came home from shift, her closet was empty and half the furniture was gone. She was sitting on the couch, waiting."
“Brian…”
"She wanted stability. I couldn’t give her that."
Ava was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was sharp.
"That's ridiculous."
I looked up.
"You save lives." Her eyes were blazing. "You run into burning buildings for complete strangers. You study paramedic textbooks every night so you can do even more, be even better. She left you because you don't wear a suit to work?"
"She wanted safety. There's a difference." Ava leaned forward. "Stability is financial. A paycheck, a 401k, predictable hours."
I opened my mouth to argue. She wasn't done.
"Safety is emotional. It's knowing someone will show up for you, no matter what. It's trusting that when things fall apart, they'll be there to help you put the pieces back together."
She held my gaze, unwavering. "You're the safest person I know, Brian Torres. Anyone who couldn't see that didn't deserve you."
The words landed somewhere I'd stopped letting people reach.
Five years since Carmen left. Five years of carrying the question: Was she right? Am I not enough?
Ava looked at me like I was worth something. Like I mattered.
Like maybe, after all this time, I could be enough.
We didn't talk about anything heavy after that. Just finished dinner, split dessert, and argued about the check until I won by sheer stubbornness. The walk home was quiet, our shoulders brushing with every step. When her hand grazed mine, I didn't pull away.
Neither did she.
Back at the apartment, a little warm, we stood in the kitchen, getting water.
Watson was asleep on the armchair, tail twitching in dreams. The apartment was dim, just the light over the stove casting a soft glow. Everything felt hushed. Suspended.
"I had fun tonight," Ava said.
"Me too."
She was close. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her green eyes, the flush still on her cheeks from the wine. I could count the freckles on her nose if I wanted to.
I wanted to.
I reached out. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers grazing the soft skin at her temple.
Ava's breath caught. Her lips parted. She didn't move away.
We were so close. Inches apart. The space between us held four years of everything we'd never said.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth. Came back up.
I leaned forward—
Watson yowled from the living room.
We both jerked back. Watson yowled again, louder, with the urgency of a cat convinced he was dying of starvation despite being fed three hours ago.
Ava laughed, stepping back. "Duty calls."
We were both smiling, both breathing too fast. Neither of us said it. We didn't have to.
She went to feed Watson. I stayed in the kitchen, gripping the counter, trying to get my heart rate under control.
Close. So close.
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The bed was comfortable enough. I'd gotten used to the new room over the past weeks. The way the streetlight came through the window, painting stripes across the wall.
But comfort wasn't the issue.
Ava was in the next room. Wearing my t-shirt, probably, with Watson curled up on her chest. Taking up space I wished was mine.
I thought about the way she'd looked at me in the kitchen. Like she wanted the same thing I did. Like she was just as scared of it.
I turned over. Punched the pillow into a better shape. Closed my eyes.
The line I'd been holding for four years was starting to fray.
Not much longer.
Carmen's voice echoed, distant now, growing fainter every day. I want someone who's going somewhere.
I was going somewhere. I'd been going somewhere all along.
And maybe Ava wanted to go there with me.
I fell asleep with that thought. With the memory of her breath catching. With the feel of her skin under my fingertips.
With hope that I hadn't let myself feel in years.