Tears slide silently down her cheeks. “Then what happened? Why did you go?”

I walk to the chair across from her desk and grab the back of it. My exhale is harsh and full of the frustration and anxiety coursing through me.

“Palmer, I left because there’s something I didn’t want to tell you. I was going to, but then Jared called, and I decided maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to do.”

She quirks a brow. “Then why tell me now?”

“Because you deserve to make the choice yourself. And if I’m being honest here, I can’t live knowing that I didn’t tell you that I love you.”

Her hand goes to her mouth. She lunges toward me but stops herself.

“I do love you, Palmer. I fell for you the moment I saw you. Is love at first sight real? If it is, I loved you then. If not, I fell for you as I got to know you and your son. I love both of you,” I say, a laugh covering the hiccup in my voice. “But there’s something you need to know.”

My nerves almost get the best of me. I can taste bile at the back of my throat. I grip the chair and hope that it keeps me still long enough to say what I need to say.

“I found out—well, I’ve known for a while, but it was confirmed last week—that I have multiple sclerosis,” I say. My voice is flat, unemotional, as if I’m telling her it’s sunny today. “There’s really no way to tell what my quality of life is going to be like going forward.”

“Cole.”

She flings herself around the desk and propels her body into mine. Her head nestles in my chest.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her so snugly against me that I’m not sure she can breathe. But I’m not sure I’m breathing anymore, either, so maybe we can pass out together.

This is right. This is the way it should be.

I close my eyes and feel her warmth, her energy—the way everything in my world seems to have snapped back together.

God, let this work out. Please.

She pulls back and touches the side of my face. “Are you okay?”

I smile at her. “Right now, I’m great.”

“I mean it. Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you process it.”

Shrugging, I look at the ceiling. “It felt wrong.”

“Cole . . .” She extracts herself from my arms and leans against her desk. “What do you do now? Is that why you are—were?—going back to California?”

I nod. “It felt easier to run away from my problems. And I’d convinced myself that I was doing you a favor.”

She laughs. “Right.”