Page 121 of Across the Boards

“It’s the right decision, Brody.” The rehearsed explanation comes automatically. “The job is perfect for me—more responsibility, better pay, prestigious company. And Seattle is beautiful. I visited once years ago and loved it.”

“And us?” His voice is steady, but his fingers tighten around his coffee cup. “Where do we fit in this perfect decision?”

The practiced answer sticks in my throat. “Long distance rarely works even for established couples. For something as new as this...” I trail off, leaving the implication hanging.

“So that’s it? You’re just ending things?” A flash of anger breaks through his composure. “After everything we’ve talked about, everything we’ve shared?”

“It’s the logical choice,” I insist, clinging to rationality like a lifeline. “The age gap was always going to be an issue eventually. Nine years isn’t nothing, Brody. And your career?—”

“Don’t.” He cuts me off, voice low but intense. “Don’t use my career as an excuse. We both know Jason’s threats are part of this, but they’re not the whole story.”

“They’re enough,” I counter. “I’ve seen what he can do when he feels slighted. I won’t be responsible for destroying everything you’ve worked for.”

“So instead you’ll destroy what we could have together?” He leans forward, eyes searching mine. “Elliot, please. I meant what I said before. I love you. We can figure this out. The job, the distance, Jason—none of it is insurmountable if we face it together.”

The raw sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. Three words echo in my mind:I love you. Words Jason said frequently but never meant. Words I’d stopped believing held any real weight.

Until Brody.

“I care about you too much to let you sacrifice your career,” I say carefully, avoiding the L-word deliberately. “This is for the best. A clean break.”

“Bullshit.” The word is sharp, surprising us both. “You’re scared. Not of Jason or age gaps or career complications. You’re scared of this—of us, of how real it is.”

His accuracy lands like a physical blow. “That’s not?—”

“It is.” His intensity pins me in place. “Jason hurt you. Deeply, repeatedly. He made you doubt yourself, question your worth, your desirability, your judgment. And now you’re letting that past trauma dictate your future. Our future.”

Tears threaten, but I blink them back. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly.” He reaches across the table, taking my hand before I can pull away. “Jason called you frigid, made you believe you were somehow lacking. But he was wrong, Elliot. So wrong. And I think part of you knows that, and it terrifies you.”

Heat floods my face at his reference to Jason’s cruel assessment of my sexuality—the one that cut deepest, left the most lingering damage. “This isn’t about that.”

“Isn’t it?” His voice gentles, thumb stroking across my knuckles. “You’re afraid to be vulnerable again. To open yourself up to possibility of pain. I get it. But you’re also closing yourself off from joy, from connection, from the kind of love that makes everything else worthwhile.”

The truth of his words pierces the careful armor I’ve constructed. Yes, I’m afraid. Terrified of being vulnerable, of trusting my judgment, of believing that what we have is real and not another elaborate deception that will leave me broken.

But I can’t admit that. Can’t give him that power. Can’t risk being wrong again.

“My flight leaves Friday morning,” I say instead, withdrawing my hand from his. “The company is arranging temporary housing while I look for something permanent.”

The shift in his expression—from passionate intensity to resigned determination—almost breaks my resolve.

“This isn’t over, Elliot.” It’s not a threat but a promise. “I’m not giving up on us. Not now, not ever.”

“There is no ‘us’ anymore,” I say, the words like glass in my throat. “There’s me in Seattle and you in Phoenix. Two separate lives.”

“For now.” He stands, surprisingly calm given the circumstances. “But remember this: I waited three years just to have a conversation with you. I’m perfectly capable of waiting longer for you to realize what we have is worth fighting for.”

He drops enough cash on the table to cover both our coffees, then leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Take care of yourself in Seattle, Elliot. And when you’re ready to admit what you really want, I’ll be here.”

I watch him walk away, shoulders straight, confidence undiminished despite the rejection. Only when he’s gone do I allow the tears to escape, tracking silently down my cheeks.

* * *

I hate Seattle.

Three weeks into my “fresh start,” and nothing feels right. The apartment doesn’t feel like home. The job, while challenging and well-paid, lacks the connection I’d built with my Phoenix clients. The city, for all its natural beauty and cultural offerings, feels cold. Impersonal.

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