“Mads, you’re—” She held up her hand to stop me from talking, and I waited.
“Please, I need to get this out.” I nodded, and she continued. “I realized you were hurting and that you weren’t in love with me the way I was with you, and I ignored that, selfishly, because I was afraid to be on my own, was afraid I didn’t know how to be.” She looked down, wiped the tears from her face. My eyes were filling too.
“Then, when you told me you’re gay, I let you take the fall, pretended it was all your fault, when I knew for a while we were struggling, and for that, I owe you an apology. It wasn’t your fault, Ryder. It was mine just as much as it was yours.”
Her head tilted up, and she looked at me, giving me a sad smile while I tried to find my words. I…hadn’t expected this. I didn’t know what in the hell to even say. I settled on, “It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t my fault. We were just kids. We meant the world to each other, and you were sick, and I loved you so damn much, but I didn’t know myself yet, and when I started to discover who I was, my fear of losing you kept me quiet longer than it should have. I think… I think what happened between us was all out of love, Mads, so neither of us should apologize for that. We can hate the time we lost and the hurt we caused, but everything we did was because we cared about each other.”
My chest was heavy, my voice broken and bruised. There was a whole lot of pain between us, but a lifetime of love too.
“You don’t hate me?” she asked.
“Jesus, no. I could never hate you. Come here.” I stood, and we went to each other. I pulled her into my arms and hugged her, Mads crying onto my shoulder. I rubbed her back, shushed her, told her it would be okay, and for the first time, I knew it would be. It didn’t matter if her parents always hated me; if she and I were okay, that was what mattered.
Eventually, her tears stopped, and we parted. Mads sat back down, and I pulled my chair around the desk to be closer to her. “There’s something different about you,” I admitted.
“I hope so. I’m…trying. I’m not ready to talk about anything yet, but I’ve felt so stuck for so long, and now I’m beginning to see my way out of it. I have a lot of work to do, and some days it’s easier than others, but for the first time in my life, I finally feel like I’m going somewhere. No one knows, though—not Mom, Dad, or Hutch.”
“When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here to listen. And I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. I’m happy for me too. And what about you? I heard you were in LA for five years. And now you’re back, you’re a mechanic and have a shop, and…is there a boyfriend?”
My doctor popped into my head, which was hard to imagine since I didn’t even know what he looked like. This wasn’t a conversation I’d ever thought I’d have with Mads, and I wasn’t sure I was ready. What would I say anyway? Nah, no boyfriend, but I talk to this guy in my building through an app every night. It was ridiculous even to my own ears. “No guy.”
“But you have?” she asked, a pink tinge to her cheeks.
“Yeah, I have.”
“And it was…right? It was different than it was with us?”
Christ, this was a tough conversation, but I respected her for being able to talk about it. Mads had so much strength in her she didn’t let herself see. “It was right.”
She nodded slowly. “Good. I want you to be happy, Ryder. Always, okay? Please don’t doubt that.”
“I don’t.”
We talked for a little while longer. I didn’t ask her about a boyfriend, figured if that was something she wanted to share, she would. Mads was clearly working through some things, and I wanted her to have all the space she needed to do so. Between her illnesses, her overprotective family, and even me, she’d been kept in chains so much of her life, I wanted nothing more than for her to spread her wings and be free.
It was about half an hour later when she said, “I should let you get back to work. Do you have the same cell phone number?”
“Yeah, I kept my Atlanta number.”
“Do you mind if I call or text sometimes?”
“I’d have my feelings hurt if you didn’t. Text me now so I can get your new number.” She’d changed hers; she’d been on my account when we were married.