“It wasn't a fight,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to. “It was her doing what she does best—pushing people away. And me finally letting her.”
The words taste bitter in my mouth. I'd let her in—further than I've let anyone in years. And this is what happens. I fucking knew it.
I was right all these years. Keeping things casual, keeping people at arm's length. You can't get abandoned if you never let anyone close enough to matter. I'd been so careful, so fucking careful, until Delilah. I actually thought she was different. Thatwewere different.
The worst part isn't even that she pushed me away. It's that she did it so easily, like I wasn't worth fighting for. Like what we had wasn't worth the risk. One moment of insecurity and she was gone, door shut, walls up, just like that.
It's like watching my dad walk out all over again, except this time I'm not nine years old. I should have known better. Should have protected myself better.
Tara's expression softens. “Troy?—”
“Nope.” I hold up a hand. “Not doing this. Not tonight.”
Alfie appears in the doorway, expression unreadable as always. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect,” I say, with my best bullshit grin. “Just telling Tara not to wait up for us. Eth and I are on the prowl tonight.”
“The prowl,” Alfie repeats, deadpan. “Really.”
“Yep. Time to get back out there. Find some beautiful, uncomplicated girl who hasn't memorized all my flaws yet.”
Tara and Alfie exchange a look that makes me want to put my fist through the wall.
“Don't,” I warn.
“Don't what?”
“Look at each other like that. Like you know something I don't.”
Tara reaches for me, but I step back. “We're just worried about you.”
“Well, don't be,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my voice. “I'm great. Better than ever. Delilah did me a favor, really. Reminded me who I am.”
“And who's that?” Alfie asks.
“The guy who doesn't need anyone.” I finish my beer, setting the bottle down with a little too much force. “The guy who has fun. Who doesn't get hung up on complicated girls who clearly want nothing to do with him.”
“Troy,” Tara says, her voice painfully gentle. “You don't have to pretend with us.”
Something in me snaps—not anger, exactly, but a bone-deep exhaustion. Because the truth is, I do have to pretend. If I stop pretending, even for a second, I'll have to face how much this actually hurts. How much I miss her. How much I wanted things to be different.
And I can't do that. Not tonight.
“I'm not pretending,” I say, and it comes out hollow. “This is who I am, Tar. Who I've always been. Delilah was the detour, not... this.”
Before she can respond, Ethan bounds down the stairs, grinning in a way that reminds me of the old days. Before Paige. Before everything got so fucking complicated.
“Ready to break some hearts?” he asks, entirely too excited.
I throw an arm around his shoulders, grateful for the interruption. “Born ready, brother.”
As we head for the door, I catch Tara watching me with that same worried expression. I blow her a kiss, playing it up.
“Don't worry about us,” I call. “We know what we're doing.”
Her response follows me out into the night: “That's exactly what worries me.”
Outside, the air is cold and sharp, sobering. Ethan's chattering about who might be at Miller's, plans for the night, but I'm only half-listening.
