Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~11 min read
Chapter 19: What I Actually Want
POV: Rory
Rory – THE BREAK
Rory makes it exactly one week without talking to Henrik before she realizes that this silence is the worst thing she’s ever experienced—worse than finding out about Carlos’s cheating, worse than the divorce, worse than any professional setback she’s endured—because this time she knows it’s her fault, knows she caused this distance by prioritizing a story over the person she loves, knows that if this relationship ends it’s because she was too scared to actually be vulnerable enough to let Henrik matter more than her career.
She sees him at practices and games, and he’s professional but distant—giving standard athlete answers to her questions when she manages to corner him for interviews, avoiding eye contact when possible, existing in the same spaces while making it very clear through body language that he’s not okay with her and isn’t ready to pretend otherwise.
His game gets worse instead of better—the slump she wrote about deepening into what sports commentators are calling “the worst two-week stretch of Andersen’s career”—and Rory watches him struggle on ice while knowing she’s at least partially responsible, knowing that her article and their fight made everything harder instead of helping.
She writes a follow-up piece analyzing the team’s continued struggles with more careful language, avoiding personal commentary about Henrik specifically, trying to report facts without editorializing about potential causes, and her editor questions why she’s suddenly pulling punches when her previous article was so effective.
“Just trying to be fair,” Rory says, which is true but incomplete—what she’s really trying to do is not make Henrik’s life harder when he’s already struggling.
Lucas corners her after practice on day eight of the silence. “You both look miserable. This is ridiculous. Just talk to each other.”
“He asked for space,” Rory says. “I’m respecting that.”
“He asked for space because he was hurt and needed time to think,” Lucas counters. “Not because he wants to break up. Henrik’s in love with you—painfully, obviously in love with you. But he’s also scared that you can’t actually prioritize him when it matters. So someone needs to make the first move toward fixing this, and I don’t think Henrik has the energy right now given how badly he’s playing.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Rory asks. “Show up at his apartment? Send flowers? Write a public apology?”
“Figure out what you actually want,” Lucas says, echoing Margot’s advice. “And then tell Henrik honestly. Not what you think you should want, or what’s professionally safe, but what you actually want if you’re being real with yourself. Because Henrik can handle you being scared. He can’t handle you being dishonest about priorities.”
Rory goes home that night and forces herself to actually examine what she wants—not what’s safest, not what protects her career, not what avoids repeating patterns from her marriage, but what she actually wants if she’s being brutally honest with herself.
She wants Henrik.
Wants to wake up next to him every morning and fall asleep in his arms every night.
Wants to go to his games not as press but as his girlfriend who’s proud of him regardless of whether he wins.
Wants to stop code-switching between professional journalist and private partner and just be Rory who loves Henrik and is figuring out how to make both career and relationship work without sacrificing either entirely.
Wants to be brave enough to actually choose him when it conflicts with journalism occasionally, to let him matter more than a story, to trust that compromising professional ethics in small ways for someone you love doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human.
She wants all of that.
But wanting it and being brave enough to actually pursue it are different things.
By day ten of the silence, Rory’s productivity at work has tanked—she’s filing stories on deadline but they’re mechanical and uninspired, missing the insight and analysis that made her stand out as a reporter—and Jim calls her into his office with concern.
“You okay, Castillo? Your work’s been off lately. Missing your usual edge.”
“Personal stuff,” Rory admits, because lying seems pointless. “Affecting my focus. I’m working through it.”
“Take a few days if you need,” Jim offers, surprisingly sympathetic. “You’ve been solid since you started—you’ve earned some slack if you need to deal with whatever’s going on.”
Rory almost laughs because the irony isn’t lost on her—her editor offering her time off to deal with personal issues when the personal issue is that she hurt her boyfriend by prioritizing work over talking to him about those exact work-related issues.
She doesn’t take the time off, but she does start leaving work at reasonable hours instead of staying late to file extra stories, starts saying no to additional assignments that would require weekend coverage, starts treating her job like a job instead of the only thing that matters in her life.
And she realizes that somewhere in the past few months, her career became less about passion for journalism and more about proving she was more than someone who sacrificed everything for a man, became less about loving sports reporting and more about not being vulnerable enough to let anything matter more than work.
That’s not healthy.
That’s trauma response pretending to be professional dedication.
And she’s tired of letting Carlos’s betrayal dictate how she functions in relationships years after the divorce.
On day twelve, Rory finally breaks down and texts Henrik: *I know you asked for space and I’ve been trying to respect that. But I miss you. And I’ve been thinking about what you said—about me always prioritizing journalism over us. You were right. I’ve been using my career as armor against vulnerability. And I’m sorry for hurting you. Can we please talk?*
The response doesn’t come for six hours—long enough that Rory’s convinced Henrik’s decided he’s done, that the relationship isn’t worth the complications—and when her phone finally buzzes she’s almost afraid to read it.
*I miss you too. And I’ve been thinking too. Come over tonight? We need to actually talk about whether we can make this work.*
Rory shows up at Henrik’s apartment at seven with her heart in her throat, and when he opens the door he looks exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, hair disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it compulsively, shoulders tight with stress—and Rory realizes he’s been just as miserable as she has, has been struggling through this silence while also dealing with his game falling apart.
“Hi,” she says inadequately.
“Hi,” Henrik responds, stepping aside to let her in.
They sit on his couch with careful distance between them—not touching, existing in the same space while both trying to figure out how to bridge the gap that’s opened between them—and Henrik speaks first.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this past week and a half. About us, about your career, about what I’m actually asking for. And I realize I put you in an impossible position—expecting you to compromise professional ethics while also saying I support your career. That wasn’t fair.”
“You were right though,” Rory interrupts. “About me prioritizing journalism over us. About me using professional ethics as an excuse to avoid actual vulnerability. About me needing to actually choose you occasionally instead of always choosing work. You were right about all of it and I’m sorry I got defensive instead of listening.”
Henrik is quiet for a moment, studying her with those ice-blue eyes that have seen her at her worst and somehow still show care instead of judgment.
“What do you actually want, Rory?” he asks finally. “Not what you think you should want, or what’s professionally safe. What do you want if you’re being honest with yourself about us?”
“You,” Rory says simply. “I want you. I want to stop hiding and code-switching and pretending that keeping work and personal completely separate is sustainable. I want to actually be your girlfriend publicly instead of just secretly. I want to request reassignment to a different team so we can be together without ethical conflicts. I want to choose you even when it’s scary and even when it complicates my career. I want all of it. I’m just terrified of wanting it.”
“Why terrified?” Henrik asks gently.
“Because wanting you this much means you can hurt me,” Rory admits. “Means I’m vulnerable in ways I swore I’d never be again after Carlos. Means I’m risking everything—my careful emotional walls, my career focus, my independence—for the possibility of something that might not last. And that’s terrifying.”
“I know,” Henrik says. “But Rory, you’ve already given me the power to hurt you. We’re past the point of protecting yourself through distance. You love me—you’ve said it, you’ve shown it, you can’t take it back even if we break up. So the question isn’t whether you’re vulnerable. The question is whether you’re willing to actually embrace that vulnerability instead of fighting it constantly.”
He’s right, and Rory knows it—she’s already in too deep to protect herself, already loves Henrik enough that losing him would devastate her regardless of how much professional distance she maintains.
So maybe it’s time to stop fighting it.
Time to actually be brave enough to let him matter more than her armor.
“I want to try,” Rory says. “Actually try. Which means requesting reassignment so we can go public. Which means letting you matter more than stories occasionally. Which means trusting that you’re not going to betray me the way Carlos did. Which means being vulnerable even though it’s terrifying. I want to try all of that.”
“Are you sure?” Henrik asks. “Because I don’t want you to resent me later for asking you to compromise your career. I don’t want to be the reason you give up something important.”
“I’m not giving up journalism,” Rory clarifies. “I’m just shifting which team I cover. I’ll still be a sports reporter. I’ll still write critical analysis. I’ll just be doing it without the ethical conflict of dating someone I’m supposed to cover objectively. That’s not sacrifice—that’s practical problem-solving that happens to accommodate our relationship.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Henrik presses. “Giving up the Frost beat?”
“I’m more okay with giving up one assignment than I am with losing you,” Rory says honestly. “The past twelve days have been miserable. I’ve been going through motions at work without actually caring about the stories I’m writing. I’ve been watching you struggle on ice and knowing I contributed to that struggle. I’ve been existing without actually living. And I don’t want that. I want you. I want us. Even if it means professional complications.”
Henrik crosses the distance between them finally, pulling Rory into his arms with the kind of relief that suggests he’s been holding himself back, waiting to make sure she actually means what she’s saying before allowing himself to believe the relationship might survive this fight.
“I love you,” Henrik says against her hair. “And I’m sorry for shutting down instead of talking to you. For asking for space instead of working through this immediately. For letting my hurt turn into silence.”
“I love you too,” Rory responds. “And I’m sorry for writing that article without talking to you first. For prioritizing the story over your feelings. For using professional ethics as an excuse to avoid actual partnership. I’m going to do better. Be better. Actually choose you when it matters.”
They hold each other for a long time, both processing the relief of reconnection after nearly two weeks of painful distance, both acknowledging silently that they came very close to ending something good because neither of them knew how to navigate the collision between career and relationship without defaulting to self-protective patterns.
“We’re going to fight again,” Henrik says eventually. “We’re both stubborn and we both have careers that matter and we’re going to have more conflicts like this.”
“I know,” Rory agrees. “But maybe next time we can fight without going silent for two weeks. Maybe we can actually talk through it instead of avoiding each other.”
“Deal,” Henrik says. “Communication instead of silence. Even when it’s hard.”
They make love that night with the desperate intensity of two people who almost lost each other, and afterward they lie in Henrik’s bed making plans for how Rory will approach her editor about reassignment, when they’ll go fully public, how they’ll navigate the inevitable questions and speculation once their relationship becomes common knowledge.
It’s terrifying and exciting and feels like actual progress instead of just maintaining status quo.
And for the first time in two weeks, Rory feels like maybe they can actually make this work.
Maybe she can have both career and relationship without sacrificing either entirely.
Maybe loving Henrik is worth the professional complications.
Maybe she’s finally brave enough to actually try.
🔥
END CHAPTER 19
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