Page 41 of No Contest

Rhett moved closer. "It didn't end. We hit pause."

I kissed him—soft and lingering.

Then I was gone, boots thudding down the stairs, out into the cold. My Prius started on the second try. I sat there for a minute, forehead against the steering wheel, ribs aching, and my balls joining them.

My phone buzzed as I pulled onto the street.

Rhett:Drive safe

I smiled despite everything and drove home.

My apartment looked worse after seeing Rhett's. Yarn everywhere. Dishes in the sink. Three half-finished projects scattered across the couch.

I texted him.

Hog:Made it home. Ribs still hate me.

His response came fast.

Rhett:Ice them. Take something for the pain.

Hog:Yes, Mom.

Rhett:I'm serious.

I stared at the screen. Started typing. Stopped. Started again.

Hog:I'm sorry

Rhett:For what?

I typed the first stupid thing that popped into my head.

Hog:For being broken

Rhett:You're not broken. You're hurt. There's a difference.

Hog:Feels the same from here.

Rhett:It's not. And I meant what I said. This doesn't change anything.

I sat on my couch, phone in my shaking hands, and tried to believe him. I tried not to think about all the guys who'd said similar things before, but they quietly disappeared when the reality of me got to be too much work.

Hog:What if I'm always going to be a little damaged? What if this is just how it goes—want something good and my body reminds me I'm thirty and held together by scar tissue?

I hit send. Watched the dots appear on his end. Disappear. Appear again.

Rhett:Then I'll want you anyway. Scars and all. That's what choosing means.

I read it three times. Then three more.

Hog:You mean that

Rhett:Yeah, I do

I set the phone down, stared at my catastrophe of an apartment, and something shifted. Not fixed or healed. Maybe seen.

My phone buzzed one more time.