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“Why did you leave?” she asks.

“You know why.” The words are quiet. Almost somber. “I’ve had enough of it tonight, okay? I just . . . I can’t be part of that anymore.”

“Part of what?”

I close my eyes. Take a breath.

“For my entire life, I’ve done nearly everything your dad asked of me. Because no matter what it was or how much it hurt, I was a kid who really only wanted one thing. And that was you.” Swallowing hard, I dare to meet her eyes. “And he still took you away from me.”

“You know,” Lily says suddenly, her arms crossed, eyes hard and staring at the wet concrete between us, “no one ever asks what I want. My dad has always assumed he knows what’s best. He’s always decided everything for me, never bothering to ask. And so, why should Carson be any different?”

His name from her mouth hurts, but I stay quiet, breathing like a bull before a ride.

“But you were . . .” she continues, her eyes finding mine. A tear leaks from one but she doesn’t wipe it away. “You were different, always. You always cared about what I wanted.”

Two more tears, then, and she finally raises her shaking hand to push them away.

“And I think maybe seeing you again made me think . . . I don’t know, that you were here to help me again. It’s so stupid, but it’s how I felt. But you were mean, and—” She exhales sharply, like she’s trying to amp herself up, to let whatever this is out. “And I’m sorry, Tor, about that night. I should’ve told you. But I didn’t want to marry Carson. I don’t— I won’t marry him. I’ve just felt so fucking trapped by everything and everyone around me, and then you show up like a lifeline . . .

“And then I messed that up too.”

My mouth opens, ready to say something, but I have no clue how to respond.

“But you . . .” Her foot stamps down. “You didn’t talk to me. You didn’t ask me what I wanted—just assumed I wanted to hurt you and . . . and that hurt. But . . . but I think I know why.”

“Yeah?” I finally say, but it’s less anger and more fear. “Why is that?”

“I think it’s because you’re scared.”

My stomach hurts.

It’s like I took a punch to the gut, straight through me. She’s always been able to see me. Lily may think she’s bad at reading and understanding people, but she’s always understood me, even when I tried to make it difficult.

Don’t go, the voice inside me says. Please don’t leave me.

I’ve been self-sufficient. I’ve been my own keeper for as long as I’ve known. And yet with her I feel needy—and that’s only making the anxiety roar louder within me.

“And I am too.” Lily’s voice cracks. “I’m scared of what happens next. I’m scared of my dad, even though I don’t want to be. And I’m scared of living without him telling me what to do, because even that can feel overwhelming—and it’s . . . it’s embarrassing to admit that but . . . it’s the truth.”

She shakes her head rapidly, more of her hair spilling around her shoulders as she hugs herself around the middle.

“But it’s okay that I’m scared,” she says, and her lips widen to a pretty smile that pulls the thread that loops from her into my chest hard, like a tug at some mythical mate bond between us. “Because you make me not scared.”

“Yeah?” I croak, unable to keep myself from seeking her eyes again.

Lily nods. “Yeah. You make me feel brave.”

There’s something beautiful about this moment, the stillness of it, the way the weight on my shoulders seems to slough off into nothing the longer I stare into her navy eyes.

“You’re right, Lil,” I finally say, stalking toward her. “I am scared. I don’t think . . . I lost you almost four years ago. I can’t go through the loss of you again. It’ll kill me.”

“You won’t.”

I nod, but I know she can’t promise that. It’s not real yet. She’s here with me and her words are everything to me, but she’s still under her father’s thumb and there’s a ring on her finger.

And this desperate need to hold on to her like I want to but never can manage is only growing.

“Please,” she breathes, shifting unevenly on her heels. “Don’t leave me here, Tor.”