“Carter?” My voice comes out rough. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
He turns his head slightly but doesn’t look at me. “Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry.”
But he’s not. Another sob tears through him, and I can’t take it anymore. I pull him in closer, shifting until he’s practically in my lap, and wrap both arms around him. He resists for a second—then gives in, collapsing against me, face pressed to my shoulder.
“Talk to me,” I murmur, one hand moving to his hair, stroking it the way I used to when he was upset. “Please.”
He shakes his head again, his tears soaking into my sweater. I can feel his fingers curl into the fabric.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my mouth close to his ear. “I’m so sorry, Carter. For everything.”
His crying worsens, and I tighten my hold on him, heart breaking with every muffled sob. I press my lips to the top of his head, then his temple—soft, comforting kisses. The kind you give someone you love when they’re falling apart.
Carter goes very still at the touch of my lips, then pulls away abruptly, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.
“Don’t,” he says, voice raw. “Please don’t do that.”
I freeze, a cold wave of dread washing over me. “Sorry—”
“I can’t.” He shakes his head, shifting away from me as much as the backseat allows. “I can’t do this with you, Thomas. Not again.”
The rejection feels like a bucket of cold water.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, even though it doesn’t feel like enough. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Yes, you did,” he cuts me off, his voice stronger now despite the tears still wet on his cheeks. “You always mean it, in the moment. And then you shut me out.”
I freeze.
He’s right, and we both know it. I’ve been playing this game with him for years—getting close, pulling away, over and over. Last year was just the breaking point.
I’ve hurt him. More than I realized. More than I let myself believe.
Shit.
It’s time to tell him the truth—even if it’s too late. Even if he’s moved on. Even if he never wants to see me again after tonight.
I take a slow breath, watching it fog in the cold air between us.
“You’re right,” I say finally, my voice low. “I did mean it. Every time.”
Carter looks at me—surprise flickering in his red-rimmed eyes like he hadn’t expected me to admit it. He doesn’t say anything, though—just waits for whatever comes next.
I sigh and close my eyes for a second.
“I was supposed to do this after the dinner tonight,” I say, staring down at my hands. “I had a whole plan. Gigi helped me practice what I was going to say.”
“Gigi,” Carter repeats, and there’s something in his voice I can’t quite identify—hurt, maybe, or resignation.
“She’s just a friend,” I say again, needing him to understand that before anything else. “Not a girlfriend. Just someone who’s been helping me figure some things out.”
I glance up and catch the flicker of confusion in his expression.
“Figure what out?”
My heart’s pounding hard enough that I’m convinced he can hear it. This is it—the thing I’ve been rehearsing for months. The conversation I’ve gone over in my head a hundred different ways. Except none of those versions involved a dead car, a snowstorm, and Carter crying.
“Why I ran last year,” I say. “After I said all that stuff—” I stop, swallow hard. “Why I almost kissed you that night.”
