“I wanted to call. A thousand times.”
“I wanted to answer.” I fold my hands tightly in my lap. “But I didn’t know what I’d say if I did.”
He nods. His jaw clenches. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I needed to see you. Even if this is the last time. Even if it hurts.”
Silence spreads and I swear I can hear our hearts pounding like a live action Edgar Allen Poe retelling.
“I’ve been trying not to miss you. And it’s not working,” I admit.
His brows pull together. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.” My voice is sharp. “I have to, Everest. Because none of this is supposed to be happening.”
“Have you been filming?” he asks, trying to change the subject.
“Briefly. It didn’t last. I ended it early. I couldn’t do it.”
His voice is so quiet. “Because of me?”
I nod. “The second I turned on the camera, I didn’t feel sexy. I didn’t feel in control. I felt… watched. But not in the way you watch me. You see me. They just want pieces.”
He lets that settle, but the ache in his eyes is too loud to ignore.
“Lorna called me ‘cause I’ve been MIA,” I continue. “I told her everything. She just… listened while I cried. And then she told me—without sugarcoating it—that what we had was real. That love doesn’t come with warning labels. That… that maybe the world messed up, but I didn’t.”
He stiffens, but I keep going, words spilling out like blood from a paper cut.
“You made me brave, Everest. You made me soft. You made me want to be something I’ve never wanted before. And now all I can think is… what the hell do I do with that?”
His voice is hoarse. “Let me help you carry it.”
I raise a brow at him as my voice raises. “How?”
“We didn’t grow up together,” he says, scooting closer. “We didn’t know. This wasn’t some fucked-up plan. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a choice we made. It just… happened.”
“But now wedoknow.” My throat tightens. “And we can’t unknow it.”
We stare at each other, that awful truth hanging between us.
He takes a deep breath and blows it out loudly before he says. “Then maybe we don’t tell anyone else.”
I blink. “What?”
“We already lost the fairytale,” he says. “Maybe we don’t lose the rest.”
I lean back. “You mean be together like we were but… keep it a secret?”
He nods, his voice lower now. “No one has to know our business. Not our friends or our parents. No one. Just us.”
My knees are weak, heart thudding. “And what does that make us then? If we’re hiding. Lying. Pretending.”
“Whatever you want us to be. But I still want to be yours.”
My heart fractures. I should say no. Should walk away. Should slam the door and bury it all in concrete.
But instead, I lean over and kiss him. It’s slow at first. Shaky. We’re both holding back, like the wrongness might break us open and drain everything within.
But then need takes over. All the days apart, the confusion, the grief, and anger and desperation crashes between our lips. His hands are on my waist. Mine in his hair. We move in sync, like our bodies were never separated. Like they’ve only been waiting to find each other again.
