“Are you sure?” I ask.
He nods.
“Okay,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “Then you’re gonna be fine.”
I shift closer, take his hand, and rest my other palm on his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. “Just breathe with me, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and easy.”
Thomas tries, but his breathing’s still uneven. His whole body shakes under my hand, and more tears slip down his cheeks. He looks terrified—and seeing him like this twists something in my chest.
Jesus. Is this seriously the moment I’m thinking about telling him I love him? He can barely breathe. And I’m almost sure it’s because he thinks I don’t feel the same.
God, the whole situation would be ridiculous if I weren’t so worried about him. But how the hell am I supposed to fix this?
“You’re safe,” I murmur, still tracing circles on his back. “This’ll pass. I promise. Just keep breathing with me.”
For several minutes, I keep telling him he’s okay, that I’m here, that he’s safe. Slowly, his breathing starts to even out. The shaking fades. That panicked look in his eyes begins to ease.
“You feeling any better?” I ask quietly.
Thomas nods, his face tight with embarrassment. “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry. I feel kind of ridiculous.”
“You’re not,” I tell him, still holding his hand. “You can’t control panic attacks. They just happen.”
“I know,” he says, then gives a small, self-conscious smile. “Still feels kind of dumb, having one because I got rejected.”
I go still. He really thinks I rejected him. Thinks that everything he told me—everything it took him months to say—was met with silence because I didn’t feel the same way.
“I didn’t reject you,” I say, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “I’m—” I pause, heart hammering, hoping to God I’m not hallucinating this. “I’m still in love with you, Thomas.”
He looks at me like he’s not sure he heard right, sitting completely still.
“I never stopped,” I add, pulse pounding in my throat. “Not even when you disappeared for a year.”
He’s staring at me now, frozen.
“And there’s no one else?” he asks after a second, his voice barely above a whisper.
“There’s no one else,” I repeat, quieter this time. “There’s never been anyone else. Not really. Every relationship I’ve had ended because they weren’t you.”
It feels raw, putting this into words—like peeling back a layer I’ve kept sealed for years. But I don’t care anymore. I’m done pretending. I’m done holding anything back.
Thomas shifts, fingers tightening around mine. Then he exhales hard and leans in, pulling me into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Carter,” he says, voice cracking against my neck. “I’m so fucking sorry. For running. For being a coward. For hurting you.”
I nod, because I can’t speak. My face is wet again—but this time, I’m smiling.
“I love you,” Thomas whispers. His hands come up to my face, thumbs brushing away my tears as he rests his forehead against mine.
“I love you too,” I say, still smiling. He smiles back—and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this happy.
This is the boy who helped me with my math homework in middle school. The guy who drove me home from parties when I’d had too much to drink. The man who’s been the center of my world for as long as I can remember.
Thomas’s gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back to my eyes. His grip tightens around my hand, and he leans in just a little. I don’t move. I just watch him, waiting—for him to choose this. To finally take that step on his own.
Then he does. He kisses me, and for a second, I feel off balance—like the car shifted beneath us.
His lips are cold at first but warm quickly against mine. The kiss is careful, searching—like he’s still making sure this is real.
