“We’ll focus on you,” he says against my skin, voice low, “and the baby.”
“That’s not fair,” I breathe, because my heart is sprinting and my brain is screaming.“To either one of you.You two should be?—”
“Stop,” Cally cuts in, and his voice is sharper than I’ve ever heard it.“You know how you hate when we decide what you should do with your life?”
I blink at him.
“It goes both ways,” he says.“If I wanted to move on, I would’ve.Years ago.”
His hand lifts, fingers brushing my chin with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting all over again.
“You can’t move on,” he adds quietly, “when you’ve already surrendered your heart and your soul.”
The words hit like a confession and an accusation all at once.
“That summer,” Cally says, “I gave everything.I don’t want it back.”His smile turns crooked, self-deprecating, like he’s trying to make this easier for me even while he’s bleeding.“Sure, I’m selfish.Sometimes I beg you to choose me instead of him.”
He glares at Monty like it’s a reflex.
“I’m selfish and ...”He exhales.“That’s a problem we need to solve so we don’t hurt you.Or the baby.”
Then he leans close, breath near my mouth—close enough my body reacts before my brain can intervene—and he kisses the tip of my nose.
A soft, ridiculous kiss that feels like a promise.
I stutter like an idiot.
Monty watches me with that contained intensity, like he’s taking notes on every tremor in my face.Like he’s memorizing me in case he needs to fight for me.
And I hate it.I hate how safe it makes me feel because safety is addictive, and I have never trusted anything that feels good.
This is too much.
He should leave.They both should.We should pause this conversation and resume in eighteen years when I’m no longer actively falling apart.
When I can point at my life and say,See?I did it.I didn’t need anyone.
I swallow.“Cal.Monty ...”
“You should think about moving in with us,” Monty says.
The words land like a punch to the lungs.
My laugh bursts out, startled and disbelieving.“What?”
“You should move in with us,” Cally repeats, like that’s a normal sentence, like he didn’t just suggest a complete emotional demolition of everything I’ve been trying to keep contained.“We’re buying a house—together.For you and the baby, and also us.”
Okay.Someone replaced their brains with cotton candy.That’s the only explanation.
“You don’t just offer someone to move in,” I say, because logic is all I have left.“Not when that would wreck your routines.Not when I?—”
“It’s fine,” Cally interrupts, trying to soothe me.
“Monty wouldn’t survive a day with a baby,” I add, pointing at the most obvious argument in the room.“Babies wake up every minute of the night.I heard rumors they turn into goblins after dark.”
Cally laughs.Monty lets out a low sound that might be amusing if he weren’t Monty.
“You think it’s funny,” I say, “but the answer is no.I won’t be moving with you.”
