Because I don’t know how to tell him that my brain is built like an emergency exit.That the moment I feel wanted, I start searching for the fire.This is why I stay away from anything and everyone.It could be the loss of my mother or the trauma I experienced after giving them everything and having our world implode.
Who knows?But now ...I do what I do best.
I deflect.
I drag my hands through my hair, forcing a laugh into my voice like I’m putting on mascara with shaking fingers.“I mean, I knew you two had a hero complex, but this is next-level.”I widen my eyes, go full Vesper-the-Entertainer.“Do you ever just sit back and let people handle their own disasters?Or do you have, like, a schedule?”
Neither of them smiles.
Not even a little.
Cally’s expression goes still, and that’s when I know I’ve pushed too far.Sunshine Callaway, the man who can joke his way out of anything, looks at me like I just punched him in the ribs.
My stomach drops.
He exhales slowly.“You really think we’re here because we feel obligated?”
I hesitate, because I don’t want to say yes.
But my whole life has taught me that people leave when it gets hard.People stay until you stop being convenient.
So I whisper, “Aren’t you?”
Cally steps closer, and his voice goes calm in a way that scares me more than anger.
“I’m here,” he says, “because you matter to me.You’re my best friend.And when I need you, you’re there—no matter the time, no matter the reason.Also, I fucking love you.I never stopped.”
His gaze locks onto mine, and something inside me goes liquid, like I could dissolve right here.
Because I want to believe him.
God, I want to, so bad.But belief feels like standing on a ledge with no railing.
Cally glances at Monty, and the air changes.
“Not sure why he would stay,” Cally says, and his smile is small and sad, “but I know how much he loves you too.”
Monty’s jaw tightens, like the word love is both a truth and a bruise.
Cally keeps going, voice softer now.“We both do.No matter how hard you push.We’re waiting for you to ...let us.”
The last part isn’t said like a demand.
It’s said like a plea, but does that mean he’s asking me to choose?
My chest hurts, and I hate that it hurts, because pain means hope has already moved in.
“I can’t fucking choose,” I crack, because my voice is my only weapon and it’s failing me.“Not like this.”
“No one is asking you to choose,” Monty says, and he moves closer.
God, he moves like he owns space.Like the world shifts to accommodate him, and when he’s near me, I feel it—this pull that makes my skin remember things I try to forget.
He takes my hand.
Not gently.Not like I’m fragile.Like I’m his.
His lips press to my open palm, and the kiss is so intimate, so quietly obscene, it makes my knees go weak.Heat slides through me, wrong timing, wrong place, right man.
