"Yeah."
"Rule number one. Broken."
"Along with most of the others."
She sits up, and the sheet falls to her waist. Her curls are wild from sleep, and yet, she's never looked more beautiful. Morning light filters through the basement window, catching on her skin and making her look ethereal, like something I dreamed up and somehow got to keep.
"We need to talk," she says.
"I know."
"Now. Before Emma and Chase wake up, and I have to sneak back upstairs like a teenager."
I glance at my phone on the nightstand. 6 a.m. Emma's an early riser when she's pregnant, up by 6:30 a.m. most morningsto deal with nausea or cravings or whatever pregnancy throws at her that day. We have maybe thirty minutes before the house starts moving, before the reality of keeping this secret crashes down on us.
"Get dressed," I say. "We'll go somewhere we can talk properly."
She doesn't argue, just pulls on her clothes from last night while I do the same. We're both moving quietly, carefully, hyperaware of the sleeping house around us. Every creak of the floorboards sounds like a gunshot. Every rustle of fabric feels too loud. But we make it to the front door without an incident.
I grab my keys, and we slip outside into the cold. Snow from last night covers everything, fresh and unmarked. The world feels suspended, caught between night and day, and it matches the way I feel—caught between wanting her and actually having her.
The truck's freezing, and our breath fogs in the air while the engine warms up. Maya rubs her hands together, blowing on them for warmth, and I resist the urge to reach over and warm them myself. We're not there yet.Not quite.
"Where are we going?" Maya asks.
"Somewhere private."
I drive to the park near the arena. It's deserted this early, just snow-covered paths and empty benches and the kind of quiet that only exists in winter mornings before the world wakes up and remembers how to be loud. I park near the overlook that shows the Hartford skyline in the distance, the buildings' dark shapes against the lightening sky.
I kill the engine, and neither of us moves.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we need to say. I can hear her breathing, quick, shallow, and nervous. My own heart is pounding so hard I'm surprised she can't hear it.
"So," Maya says finally. "You've been obsessed with me for years."
"Yes."
"But you rejected me at my birthday party."
"Yes."
"I need you to explain that. Because from where I'm sitting, those two things don't make sense together."
I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles going white. This is it. The conversation I've been avoiding. The truth I've kept locked away because I thought it would hurt more to tell her than to keep it hidden.
"You were drunk," I say, the words coming out rough. "At your party. You'd had tequila, wine, probably more. And when you kissed me on that balcony, I wanted to kiss you back more than I'd wanted anything in my life. But I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because you couldn't consent properly. Because I wasn't going to take advantage of you when you were that drunk." I force myself to turn and face her, to look her in the eyes so she knows I mean every word. "You deserved better than that, deserved better than me making a move when you weren't in a position to make a clear choice."
She's staring at me, her brown eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. The sun is rising now, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, and the light catches on her face in a way that makes my chest ache.
"That's why you left?"
"That's why I left."
"I thought—" Her voice cracks, and she has to take a breath before continuing. "I thought you found me repulsive, that you saw me as just Emma's annoying friend. I spent a year thinking you were disgusted by me."
