He'sin pain.
“Like I did something wrong,” I finish quietly. “What happened? Talk to me.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You know what's wrong.”
“I really don't.”
“Justin.”
My skin burns, searing straight up my spine until goosebumps rise on my neck. “What?”
“I saw you.” His voice is low, rough, scraped raw. “Right after the ride. Standing there with him. Laughing. Like nothing—like last night didn't?—”
He stops. Swallows hard.
And suddenly I understand.
Oh.
Oh no.
“Everett, that wasn't—he just came up to say hi. I didn't?—”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It clearly does.”
“Okay, so maybe it does.” He steps closer, and I can see it now—the fear underneath the anger. The wound that never healed. “Because I've seen this movie before, Sierra. I know how it ends.”
“That's not fair.”
“Fair?” A sound escapes him, something between a laugh and a sob. “You want to talk about fair? I told you I was done pretending. I told you everything. I put everything on the line. And the first chance you get, you're standing there withhim?—”
“I was beingpolite.”
“You were hiding.”
The accusation hits too close to home. “That's not?—”
“It is.” His eyes are blazing now, but not with anger. With something worse. Something that looks a lot like grief. “You've been hiding since the day you decided I wasn't worth the fight.And I keep thinking—I keephoping—that this time will be different. That you'll finally choose us.”
My throat closes. “Everett?—”
“But you won't, will you?” His voice cracks. “You'll find another Justin. Another excuse. Another reason why we can't work. Because it's easier than actually trying.”
“That's not what I'm doing.”
“Then what are you doing?” He spreads his arms. “Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly the same. It looks like eleven years ago all over again.”
The words slice through me.
And the worst part?
I don't have a defense.
Because he's not entirely wrong.
I have been hiding. Behind my camera. Behind my brothers. Behind every excuse I can find to avoid saying out loud what we both already know.
