“I’ve been working.”
“So have I.”
Her eyes search my face, sharp and unflinching. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Retreat. Not now. Not after everything.”
Her voice isn’t angry. It’s frustrated.Which is worse.
“I’m not retreating.”
“Yes, you are,” she presses. “You were doing it long before that ride. You step forward, and then, the second it feels real, you pull away like you put your hand in the fryin’ pan.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Teagan?—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You don’t get to shut this down before we get to talk about it.”
The wind picks up, lifting strands of hair across her face. She doesn’t brush them away. She just stands there, daring me to deny what’s happening between us. Her gaze softens slightly, but she doesn’t back down. “We weren’t a mistake out there.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like we were,” she exhales, an air of pain in her tone.
The honesty in her eyes undoes me, and I admit quietly, “I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“At… starting over.”
“No one’s asking you to erase Rosie. You don’t have to wipe the old slate clean.” Her expression softens, and she steps closer, eliminating the space I keep trying to create. “You can just start a new one.”
“I don’t know how to do this without…” My voice falters, the words catching somewhere between my chest and my throat, heavy and unwelcome.
She tilts her head slightly. “Without what?”
“Without knowing what it’s going to cost me,” I admit quietly. “Without knowing if I can survive it again.”
I stare at the space between us as I try to find a way to say the thoughts running through my mind. Teagan’s brow furrows, but she doesn’t interrupt. She gives me a moment and lets me find my way through it.
“I loved her,” I continue, the admission still sharp. “I built everything around that love. Every plan. Every version of the future I thought I’d have. Rosie was my world.”
“I’m not trying to replace her.”
“I know.” My voice breaks on the truth of it. Wise well beyond her years, Teagan doesn’t see Rosie as competition. “That’s not what scares me.”
Her thumb brushes over my knuckles, giving me comfort I don’t deserve.
“What scares me,” I add, forcing myself to say it, “is that I care about you anyway.” My confession is painful, because caring isn’t safe. Caring is the first step toward having something to lose. “One moment. One phone call. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “I don’t know if I have it in me to experience that kind of loss again,” I admit. “I don’t know if I’d survive it again.”
The confession settles between us, raw and exposed. She doesn’t pull away or look afraid. Her hand moves slowly—deliberately—until her fingers wrap around mine. “Oh, Easton… What happened to Rosie was tragic,” she says gently. “Every day could be the last for any of us.”
After letting her hands fall from mine, she tenderly cups both of my cheeks. “You don’t have to promise me anything,” she insists softly, staring up at me. “Not forever. Not tomorrow. Not anything you’re not ready to give.”
My chest tightens as she watches me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine.
