"That's what you mean." She pulls her hand from mine, and the loss of contact is worse than Connor's words. "Connor's right. You're halfway out the door."
"Lucy, no." I reach for her, but she steps back. The space between us feels like miles. "I'm just trying to be realistic. I'm going back to Boston. That's not new information."
"But you acting like this—us—is a mistake? That's new." Her eyes shine in the porch light. "I thought we were figuring this out together."
"We are. I just—" I run a hand through my hair, wishing I could feel her fingers there instead, the way they tangled in it when I kissed down her throat. "I don't have all the answers, okay? I don't know how this works. I don't know how to do this without someone getting hurt."
"So your solution is to hurt me now instead?"
"I'm trying to protect you."
"By agreeing with Connor? By standing here saying you never meant for us to happen?" Lucy's voice breaks. "I don't need protection. I need you to fight for this."
But I can't fight. Not with Connor staring at me like I'm a stranger. Not with Emma and Jim watching this train wreck unfold. Not with every worry Connor voiced settling into my bones like truth.
"Maybe Connor's right," I hear myself say. "Maybe I'm not thinking straight. Maybe I need some space to figure this out."
The words hit her hard. Lucy takes another step back, and I want to close the distance, want to pull her against me and feel her heartbeat and remember what this felt like before Connor ruined it.
"Space," she repeats.
"Just for tonight. To let everyone cool down." I'm digging the hole deeper with every word, but I can't stop. "I could stay at the inn. Give the family time to—"
"To what? Talk about what a mess I am?" Lucy's laugh is sharp. "Or maybe to convince me that you're right. That this was all a mistake."
"That's not what I want."
"Then what do you want, Ryder?" She spreads her hands, and I remember how those hands felt on my chest, my shoulders, my face. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you want an easy out. And I just handed you one."
I look at Connor, at his Dad, at Lucy. My mind is static, every thought fragmenting before it forms. I should stay. I should fight. I should tell Connor he's wrong and Lucy she's right and that I'm all in no matter how terrifying it is.
Instead, I say, "I'll get my stuff."
The silence that follows is deafening. Lucy stares at me like she's never seen me before. Maybe she hasn't. Maybe this is who I am—the guy who runs when things get hard.
"Lucy—" I try, but she's turning away.
"Don't." She doesn't look back. "Just go."
She walks past Connor, past her Dad, into the house. The door closes behind her with a quiet click that sounds louder than Connor's slam. I can still feel the shape of her body against mine, still taste her on my lips, and it makes leaving worse.
I stand there, rooted to the driveway, my heart pounding against my ribs. This is the wrong choice. Everything in me knows it. But my feet move toward my truck.
"Ryder." Jim's voice stops me. "Think about what you're doing."
I do think about it. I think about Lucy's face when I said I never meant for this to happen. I think about Connor's accusation that I'm just killing time. I think about Boston and distance and all the ways this could go wrong.
"I need to clear my head," I say.
Jim's expression is disappointed but not surprised. Like he expected this. Like everyone expected this except Lucy.
Connor says nothing. He just watches me with that same look of betrayal, and I know I've confirmed every doubt he had about me and his sister.
I get in my truck. Start the engine. The dashboard clock reads 12:58 AM.
The drive to the inn takes eight minutes. I don't remember any of them.
The night clerk gives me a key card and points toward the elevator. The room is generic and beige and smells like industrial cleaner. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the wall.
