He lifts both hands. “Wait. No. Let me…”
“Let me explain…” I interrupt.
“You didn’t deserve…”
“I should’ve told you…”
We both stop.
We both exhale.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. You go.”
I swallow. “I didn’t tell you I was meeting Mark because I wasn’t even sure I could get through that conversation without crying or stabbing him with a butter knife. I didn’t want itto affect your game. And I didn’t think he’d dare try anything public again.”
Bryce mutters, “He dared.”
“I know.” My voice softens. “And I wasn’t getting back with him. Not ever. I just needed him to stop pretending we were some romantic tragedy.”
He nods. “I know that now.”
I look down. “When you pulled away… I thought I made everything worse. I thought you regretted me.”
Bryce steps closer. “Annabelle. I didn’t regret you for a second.”
His voice is quiet, rough. “I hated how much you mattered. Hated that one look from you could knock me sideways. It messed with my head. Made me think I wasn’t your first choice, that I’d get hurt, that you’d wake up one day and realize you deserved someone safer than me.”
I whisper, “Bryce…”
“And then I acted like a fucking coward. I ghosted you. I made you feel alone. I hurt you.”
My breath shakes. “You did.”
He nods, jaw tight. “I’m sorry. For all of it. For not trusting you. For disappearing. For letting my pride run the show. For not stepping up and fighting for us the way I fight everything else.”
I stare at him. Garlic breath and all.
He gives a weak laugh. “This is not how I imagined apologizing. I had a whole speech planned. Flowers. Candles. Minimal garlic.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “You really do smell like a Mediterranean food truck.”
He groans. “I know. The guys wouldn’t let me shower. They said I had to ‘strike while the emotions were hot.’ I’m pretty sure that was code for ‘let’s make Bryce suffer.’”
I press a hand to my mouth, smiling. “They love you.”
“They love you, too. They exposed a country music star in song form. For you.”
“For us,” I correct softly.
He goes still.
Something warm and bright flows between us.
He lifts a hand slowly, like he’s giving me time to stop him. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, fingertips brushing my cheek.
My breath catches.
We lean closer. Not touching. Not kissing. Just breathing the same air.
