Especially not now.
So, I say the only thing that I can. The only thing that’s true without being selfish.
“I’m proud of you,” I say quietly.
She looks at me, surprised. “For what?”
“For choosing yourself,” I reply. “That’s not easy. It never was for you.”
Her gaze softens, something unguarded flickering there before she schools it. “You don’t even know what happened.”
“I don’t need to,” I say. “I know you.”
A small breath leaves her, shaky but not broken.
“I’m sure your friends would be proud too,” I add, keeping my tone light. “Especially Jenny. She was never subtle about her opinions on your taste in men.”
Claire lets out a startled laugh. It’s like watching the sun break through cloud cover.
“God,” she says. “She really wasn’t.”
“She hated me,” I say with feeling.
“She didn’t hate you,” Claire counters, smiling. “She just… didn’t trust you.”
I wince. “Fair.”
Her smile turns distant. “Do you remember when she tried to follow us on our first date?”
I laugh, the sound bubbling up before I can stop it. “She would’ve gotten away with it too if she hadn’t been on a bicycle.”
“And if she hadn’t tried to chase your dad’s car,” Claire adds, laughter spilling over now.
I can see it so clearly, the memory vivid as if it happened yesterday. Jenny’s blonde hair whipping wildly in the wind, her face set in fierce determination as she pedaled like her life depended on it, while Claire and I watched her grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.
“She was a dot by the time we hit the highway,” I say.
“And still trying,” Claire laughs.
Her whole face opens when she laughs. It always did. It’s not just her mouth, it’s her eyes, her cheeks, the way her nose crinkles just slightly. Her green eyes caught the porch light, bright and alive, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.
I wished the world would stop right there.
Chapter 53
Ethan
The wind picks up, playful, teasing loose strands from her braid. Honey-blonde hair escapes and brushes her cheek, her neck. She absently tucks it back, fingers gentle, unaware of the way my gaze tracks the movement.
She’s wearing a simple dress, soft fabric that moves with her, that hugs her in a way that feels both modest and devastating. The curve of her waist, the familiar slope of her shoulders, it all hits me with a force I wasn’t prepared for.
There was a time she would’ve been sitting on my lap instead of across from me.
We were that couple. The one people rolled their eyes at. Always touching. Always laughing. Always wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world was background noise.
And I destroyed it.
The weight of that realization presses down on me, heavy and relentless.
