Page 50 of The Promises We Broke
"As a friend," I clarified quickly, though even that felt like a massive understatement and overstatement all at once. "Assomeone I knew when we were kids, someone I want to see succeed and be happy and find his place with his family again."
"Just as a friend."
The question in his voice made me pause. Was that disappointment? Or was I projecting hopes I wasn't ready to examine onto his tone?
"I don't know what else we could be," I said honestly. "We're both different people than we were eleven years ago. We've both been through things that changed us. But yesterday, talking to you in that house, seeing you so determined to make amends and rebuild your life, I remembered why I liked you so much when we were kids."
"Why was that?"
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment I was seventeen again, explaining to my aunt why I was always hanging around with the Farrington boys instead of girls my own age.
"Because you were kind. Because you protected people who needed protecting, even when it cost you something. Because you made me laugh and you listened when I needed someone to hear me and you never made me feel like I was too much or too serious or too focused on school."
His eyes never left my face as I spoke, and I could see him absorbing every word like he was trying to memorize them.
"Because you were my friend," I finished quietly. "And I'd like to find out if we can be friends again, now that we're adults who hopefully know better how to take care of each other."
"What if I want more than friendship?" The question was barely above a whisper, but it hit me like a shout.
My breath caught, and for a moment I let myself imagine what 'more' might look like. What it would feel like to rebuild something with Gage that wasn't just based on shared historybut on who we'd become. What it would be like to touch him because I wanted to, not because it was medical necessity.
But then reality crashed back in. The years of silence between us. The fact that he was still healing, still figuring out his place in his family, still dealing with whatever had brought him to that construction site. The fact that I was still figuring out how to trust him not to disappear again.
"Then we take it one day at a time," I said carefully. "We start with friendship, and we see if we can manage that much."
"Without any promises about the future."
"Without any promises," I agreed. "Just two people who used to be friends, learning who they are now and whether friendship is still possible."
He was quiet for a moment, considering this. "I can live with that. If it means you'll still be in my life somehow."
"It does. Just not as your therapist."
When I finally stood to pack up my equipment, the atmosphere between us felt different. Not charged with romantic possibility like the scene I'd just rewritten in my head, but calmer. More honest. Like we'd both acknowledged something important without pushing for more than either of us was ready to handle.
"Laura's really good," I said as I zipped up my therapy bag. "She'll push you harder than I would, but she'll get better results because she won't be second-guessing every decision. She's going to make you work hard for this."
"Will I still see you? During the transition, I mean."
"A few sessions together, to make sure continuity of care is maintained. And I'll be around. I work at the rehabilitation center, after all." I paused at the door, looking back at him. "But when I come back after the transition is complete, it won't be as your therapist."
"What will it be as?"
"A friend," I said, testing the word and finding it both insufficient and exactly right for where we were. "If that's something you still want."
"It is."
As I walked to my car, I felt something I hadn't experienced in years. The terrifying, cautious hope that maybe some friendships were strong enough to survive everything that had tried to break them.
Whether it could ever be more than that was a question for another day. A question I wasn't ready to ask, let alone answer.
But for now, friendship was brave enough. For now, it was exactly what we both needed.
For now, it was enough.
Chapter 17
Gage
