Not because I didn’t understand. Because I did. Completely. Every implication, every consequence, every possible ending rushed through me at once.
“I didn’t tell anyone else,” he continued quietly. “Just Jeremy. It’s already in motion.”
I nodded, because nodding was easier than speaking.
“You didn’t have to—” I started.
“I know,” he said immediately. “But you deserve certainty. And so do I.”
That cracked something.
I wrapped my arms around myself, fingers digging into my sleeves. “When?”
“Soon,” he said. “I don’t have an exact timeline yet, but—soon.”
Soon felt both merciful and unbearable.
I looked at him then—really looked—and saw the strain he’d been carrying without complaint. The control. The restraint. The way he hadn’t touched me since the kiss in the parking lot exceptby accident, like he was afraid that if he let himself want, it would mean something terrible.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
He nodded. “Me too.”
The honesty was disarming.
“What if—” My voice caught. I cleared my throat. “What if it’s true?”
He didn’t dodge it. “Then we deal with it.”
“How?” I demanded softly. “Because I don’t know how to unfeel this.”
His gaze softened, but his voice stayed steady. “I don’t either.”
That was the moment everything shifted—from fear, grief, and longing into something else entirely.
“I hate this,” I whispered. “I hate that I want you when I shouldn’t. I hate that wanting you feels like breathing. I hate that my brain keeps telling me to stop and my body refuses to listen.”
“I will never hate hearing you say you want me. I will never hate wanting you. I can’t.” He took a step closer. Not touching. Just… closer. “I hate that I don’t regret it,” he said quietly. “Any of it.”
My breath shuddered out of me.
“Archie—”
“I’m not asking anything from you,” he said. “I’m not asking you to wait. Or choose. Or promise. I just didn’t want you to think this was happeningtoyou. I wanted you to know I’m doing everything I can to make sure you get answers.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, sudden and unwelcome.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The space between us felt charged now—tight, electric, alive with everything we weren’t saying.
I took the last step without thinking.
He inhaled sharply, like he felt it too—that invisible line snapping tight between us. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, didn’t touch me, didn’t give himself permission.
Then his hand slid to my waist.
Not tentative. Not careful.
