“What kind of promise?”
“The kind that keeps you awake at night.” His voice drops, loses the performative edge entirely. When he looks at me, his amber eyes are darker, more serious than I’ve ever seen them. “The kind that makes you question every decision you’ve made since you were eighteen years old.”
Something cold settles in my stomach, spreading outward like spilled wine. “Cal?—”
“Do you know what it’s like to want something you can’t have?” The question comes out quiet, dangerous. The fountain seems to bubble louder, or maybe my heart is just beating so fast it drowns out everything else. “To build your entire life around the absence of one person?”
I stop breathing. The garden goes silent except for the water and the distant sound of string instruments tuning up somewhere beyond the hedges.
“Because I do.” He turns the coin over and over, the movement hypnotic in the fading light. “I know what it’s like to fuck other women and think about someone else. To wake up every morning for six years and wonder if today’s the day she comes home.”
“Stop.” The word comes out breathless, barely audible.
“I know what it’s like to pretend you’re fine when everyone asks about her.” His voice is steady, controlled, but there’s something volatile underneath it, like a storm gathering strength. “To smile and joke and act like your best friend’s little sister didn’t take half your soul when she left for California.”
“Cal, stop.”
“Why?” His eyes find mine, and they’re not charming anymore. They’re desperate, raw, the kind of naked honesty that makes my chest ache. “Because it makes you uncomfortable? Because it’s easier to pretend last night didn’t happen?”
The air between us feels charged, electric. I can taste the salt from the harbor on my tongue, feel the humidity settling on my skin like a second layer of silk.
“Last night?—”
“Last night I told you I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen.” His voice cuts through whatever excuse I was trying to form. “Last night you looked at me like I’d grown a second head and walked out.”
“I needed to think.”
“And now? Done thinking?”
The simple question cuts right through me like a blade, finding the space between ribs. Because the truth is, thinking is all I’ve been doing. Thinking and remembering and trying to figure out how three men I’ve known my entire life managed to upend everything I thought I knew about myself.
“It’s complicated.”
“Bullshit.” The word comes out flat, final, hitting the air like a slammed door. “You want to know what’s complicated? Watching you date other people. Pretending to be happy when you called to tell us about your job, your apartment, your life that didn’t include us.”
He stands abruptly and starts pacing along the fountain’s edge. His movements are sharp, agitated, like a caged animal finally realizing the bars are locked. The late afternoon light cuts acrosshis face in sharp angles, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders.
“You want to know what’s complicated? Lying awake, wondering if the reason you never came home for Christmas was because youknew. Because you knew how I felt and you couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with it.”
“That’s not?—”
“Isn’t it?” He spins to face me, and there’s something wild in his expression, something that makes my pulse stutter and race. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve spent six years running from anything that might make you feel something real.”
The accusation hits like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. “You don’t know anything about my life.”
“I know you build brands for other people, but can’t figure out what you want for yourself.” His smile is sharp, cutting, the kind that draws blood. “I know you’re brilliant at reading everyone except yourself.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I can feel my temper rising like mercury in a thermometer. “Fuck you.”
“There she is.” His voice turns velvet, dangerous, wrapping around me like smoke. “There’s the Parker I remember. The one who used to fight back instead of hiding behind pretty manners and careful distance.”
I stand up fast enough that my heels scrape against the marble, the sound sharp in the humid air. “You think you know me.”
“I know you better than anyone.” He steps closer, and now I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the cedar andbergamot of his cologne mixing with something that’s purely him—warm skin and summer air and trouble. “I know you used to sneak out to our parties just to prove you could. I know you kissed Ryan Matthews behind the gym, not because you liked him, but because you wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
Another step closer. He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his amber irises, the way his pupils dilate in the fading light.
“I know you cried for three hours when you had to put down that stray cat you found, and you made me promise never to tell anyone because Carters don’t show weakness.”
