"I don't know how to do this," he saidfinally.
Lily's eyebrow arched. "Do what?"
"This." He gestured between them. "Talking about feelings. Being vulnerable. Any of it." He laughed, but it came out hollow. "I've spent thirty-five years avoiding exactly this moment, and now that I'm here, I'm realizing I have no idea what I'm doing."
"That's your opening? 'I don't know what I'm doing'?"
"I'm trying to be honest."
"Novel approach. You could have tried that five weeks ago."
The words hit their mark. Alex flinched but didn't look away.
"You're right. I should have." He took a breath, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "You asked me once what I was afraid of. On the beach, that night. And I gave you some bullshit answer."
"I remember."
"The real answer is you." The words scraped out of his throat like sharp rocks. "I was afraid of you. Of how you made me feel. Of how much I wanted something I'd convinced myself I could never have."
Lily's expression didn't change, her grip tightened on the railing.
"Every time you gave me an opening—and you gave me so many, Lily—I had the words. I knew what I wanted to say." His voice cracked, and he didn't try to hide it. "Ask me to stay. You actually said that. You made it so easy, and I still couldn't?—"
He stopped, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Get it together, Carmichael. She deserves better than you falling apart.
When he lowered his hands, Lily was watching him with an expression he couldn't read.
"You're saying this now," she said quietly. "Where was this five weeks ago? Where was this when I was standing on that dock, waiting for you to give me literally any reason not to get on that boat?"
"I don't have an excuse." Alex shook his head. "I could tell you about my mom dying when I was nine. About spending the next twenty-six years convinced that caring about someone just meant losing them eventually. About building walls so high I forgot there was supposed to be a door." He laughed bitterly. "But those aren't excuses. They're just... explanations. Bad ones."
"They're not bad explanations," Lily said, and her voice was softer now. "They're just not enough."
"I know."
Silence stretched between them, filled with the cry of gulls and the distant rumble of harbor traffic.
"The video," Alex said. "What you made—it was the most incredible thing anyone's ever done with my work. You took everything I tried to tell you and made it matter to millions of people. While I was sitting in my apartment feeling sorry for myself, you were out there changing the world."
"I was processing," Lily corrected. "I was heartbroken and angry and I needed to do something with all of that. So I made something that mattered." She paused. "You taught me that. How to care about things that actually deserve caring about."
"I should have been braver. I should have—" Alex's voice broke. "I'm not asking for another chance. I know I don't deserve one. I just needed you to know that letting you leave was the worst mistake I've ever made. And I've made a lot of mistakes, but that one... that one I'm going to regret for the rest of my life."
Lily stared at him.
Alex stared back, his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.
He'd said everything he had to say. Put every card on the table. Now it was up to her, and the waiting was excruciating.
"You know what really pisses me off?" Lily finally said.
"What?"
"That was actually a pretty good speech."
Despite everything—despite the gravity of the moment and the very real possibility that she was about to walk away forever—Alex felt his lips twitch.
