"I've loved you since I was eighteen, Jackson."
My heart stops. Everything stops. The world narrows down to just her face, her voice, those impossible words hanging in the frozen air between us.
"What?"
"I've been in love with you for eight years, too. When you rejected me at my party, it broke me. When I showed up here, and you were living in Emma's basement, it was torture. And when you agreed to the arrangement—" She's crying harder now, face buried in my neck, words muffled against my skin. "I thought you were just being nice, helping me heal because you're a good person. I had no idea you felt the same way."
"Maya—"
"We're idiots. Complete fucking idiots. Eight years. We could've had eight years."
"I know."
We sit here in my truck, both crying, both processing this revelation. Eight years of wanting each other in silence, of thinking the feelings were one-sided. Eight years of missed opportunities, misunderstandings, and pure stubborn stupidity.
The weight of it settles in my chest, all that wasted time, all those moments we could've had. I think about every Christmas she visited, every birthday party, every casual interaction that felt like torture because I wanted so much more and thought I could never have it. Thinking about the year after her birthday party, when she stopped coming around, when I thought I'd ruined everything, and there was no way back.
"So what do we do now?" she asks finally, pulling back enough to wipe her eyes with the heel of her hand.
"I don't know. The rules?—"
"Fuck the rules. They were stupid anyway." She wipes her eyes again, leaving mascara smudges on her cheeks that I want to kiss away. "I'm done pretending this is just physical."
"Me too."
"But Emma?—"
"We can't tell her yet. Not like this. Not when everything's so new." I squeeze her hand, and I feel her squeeze back. "But we can acknowledge this, that we have feelings, that this isn't just an arrangement anymore."
"What is it then?"
"I don't know. Something more. Something real." I pull her fully into my lap now, and she comes willingly, settling against me like she belongs here, like this is where she was always meant to be. "Something that terrifies me and feels right at the same time."
She cups my face with both hands, and I can't help but lean into her touch, this simple gesture I've wanted for so long. Her hands are soft against my skin despite the cold, her thumb brushing my cheekbone in a way that makes my eyes want to close so that I can focus on the sensation.
"I'm scared," she whispers.
"Me too."
"What if we fuck this up?"
"Then we fuck it up together."
She kisses me, and it's soft at first, tentative, like we're both afraid this might break if we're not careful. Then it deepens, turns into something more, a promise of what could be if we're brave enough to try. I can taste the salt from her tears and something else, hope, maybe, or the beginning of something neither of us knows how to name yet.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers, catching my breath. Her shampoo, her skin, the faint warmth of her body against mine—I want to burn this into my memory.This moment. This feeling of finally having what I've wanted for so long.
"So," she says, a small smile playing at her lips despite the tears still drying on her cheeks. "Adjusted rules?"
"We acknowledge feelings exist. We stop pretending this is casual."
She nods, but her smile falters. "But we keep it quiet. From Emma. Just… just until I figure out how to tell her."
"Maya—"
"I don't know how long," she says quickly. "I just—she's got so much going on right now with the baby and everything, and I don't know how to bring this up without making it weird or like I'm asking for her permission, but she's my best friend and?—"
"Hey." I catch her hand. "We'll figure it out."
