He flinches, barely, but I see it.
Good.
“When you said she was in the past, I thought you meant actual history. You know, ‘dusty textbook, terrible haircuts, questionable fashion choices’ history. Not ‘still warm in the grave’ history.”
His jaw works.
“You let me fall into that kiss thinking I was something new. But really?” My throat tightens, but I keep going. “I was just the next chapter while the ink was still wet on hers.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like, Tyler?” My voice is measured, the kind of controlled that lands harder than yelling. “Because I’m not asking for your dating CV. I’m asking why you kissed me like that when you were still carrying her around like a shadow.”
He looks away, jaw tightening until I can see the muscle tick. Then back at me, steady.
“She was a habit, Hayley. Nothing serious.”
I laugh, bitter and wrong, a sound that feels like it slices my own throat.
“You know what habits do, Tyler?” I say, leaning forward. “They hurt people when you don’t break them properly. You don’t get to roll out of her bed and land straight on my lips and call it a clean slate.”
His jaw tightens. “Are we really doing this now?”
“Yes, Tyler.” My voice holds, even though my chest feels like it’s full of bees. “We’re stuck in a floating death trap in the middle of a lake. When else would be good for a snog post-mortem?”
He looks away, silent for a beat. The boat creaks like its eavesdropping. I half expect him to dodge, to deflect, to toss me some clever line and paddle us straight back to the safety of sarcasm.
Instead, he exhales, like he’s bracing for impact.
“You weren’t some rebound,” he says, voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “You were the reason I stopped rebounding.”
I go very, very still.
He leans in, not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. His voice softens again, dangerous now in how much it sounds like a confession.
“You’re not her shadow, Hayley. You’re the one that…”
The words vanish. Just hang there, unfinished, heavy enough to tilt the whole boat.
Everything inside me lurches.
I stare at him. “That what?”
He sighs, looks out across the water like he might just throw himself in to avoid saying it. “Forget it. You’ve clearly already made up your mind about me.”
“No.” I lean forward, refusing to let him wriggle free. “You started a sentence. You don’t get to bail halfway through; there’s no roleplay safe word here.”
He exhales, almost smiling, but it’s tight, like he’s holding something back.
“Ben told me you were coming.”
My stomach dips. “What?”
“When he said he was getting married, I asked who’d be going. When he mentioned you… I hoped.”
I just stare at him.
He shrugs, his voice more careful. “IknewI’d be signing up for the castle, the drama, and the full-blown Tudor cosplay, but none of it mattered. The second Ben said you’d be here, I was in. Hoping, stupidly maybe, for a chance at a do-over.”
