I ran.
Yup—just turned and bolted. No explanation. No monologue. Just pure, unfiltered flight response, like someone had yelled “bear!” instead of “feelings!” I think Ronan called after me, but it was hard to tell over the sound of my own mortification.
And let me tell you—dramatically sprinting into the woods at sunset? Not nearly as poetic as movies make it seem. I tripped over a root, got smacked in the face by a rogue branch, and I’m positive I traumatized a raccoon who didnotsign up for my emotional meltdown.
I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed like a useless slug, staring at the ceiling while my brain replayed every agonizing second on a loop—like it had turned the total disaster into a musical. A painfully awkward, spotlight-on-my-humiliation musical.
They loved me.
That much was undeniable.
And I loved them—every tangled, beautiful, impossible piece of them.
But what do you do with a love that doesn’t fit the mold? One that refuses to stay in its lane. A love that shatters every unspoken rule and builds new ones you’re terrified to follow.
I still don’t have the answer.
But for the first time, I think I’m ready to ask the question.
Because this?
This is where the real story begins.
Chapter One
Berkley
Present Day
My phone buzzes violently against my pillow, vibrating like it’s personally offended that I’m still in my full-throttle, post-embarrassment coma. I groan into the fabric as if it betrayed me, burying half my face in a fortress of comfort fluff and emotional debris.
Buzz. Buzz.
I peel one eye open, squinting at the screen like I’ve just been dragged out of a century-long enchantment.
Reign.
Of course it’s Reign.
Because who else would dare call me this early—okay, fine, it’s noon, but morally it’s early—when I am very clearly dedicated to wallowing in humiliation until the end of time?
Two nights ago, I made a complete and catastrophic idiot of myself in front of the four people I love more than anyone in this disastrously complicated world. Not only did I embarrass myself—I executed a full-speed sprint into the woods like the lead in a low-budget teen drama who just realized she’s in love with all three of her love interests at the exact same moment.
Spoiler alert: she is.
So yes. I panicked. I ran as if the forest had extended a personal invitation and my spirit animal was a frantic woodland creature fleeing tax season. And after that public meltdown, I did what any mature, emotionally grounded young woman would do…
I ghosted them.
Brutally.
I ignored every call. Pretended every text didn’t exist. I even dodged Ronan when he stopped by yesterday and asked my dad if I was “alive and breathing,” while I was literally standing ten feet away. I dove into the living room so fast I think I created a new Olympic sport.
They were patient. Gentle. Way too understanding.
And me? I was a coward in adorable pajama pants.
Avoiding them like they were collectively infected with an emotional plague—as if feelings were contagious and I didn’t already have a fully developed, multi-symptom case ofI am in love with all of my male best friends.
