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“If you didn't feel the same way about Laney, I'd tell you to be honest with her. Don't let her build a future around something you can't give her.”

I nod.

“But whether you love my daughter or you don't, that doesn't change how we feel about you.”

Something tightens behind my ribs.

“You've been part of this family for a long time,” she continues. “You don't have to earn your place here. And you certainly don't have to be with Laney to keep it.”

I stare at her. For years, I've carried around this stupid belief that everything good in my life comes with conditions. That if I make the wrong choice, disappoint the wrong person, or want something I'm not supposed to have, I'll lose it.

And here she is, telling me the one thing I've never been able to convince myself of. I don't have to keep proving I deserve to stay.

“I don't want to hurt anybody,” I say.

“I know you don't.”

“Declan's my best friend.”

“And Laney's his sister. We're all aware.”

I huff out a laugh.

She squeezes my hand.

“But you can't protect everyone from having feelings about your decisions, Hayes. Sometimes people get upset. Sometimes they need a little time to adjust.”

I glance toward the living room. “Declan might need a lot of time.”

“He's his father's son. Stubborn as a mule.”

“Coach's going to love hearing that.”

“Coach already knows.” She smiles. Then her expression grows serious. “Just don't break her heart because you're afraid of what everyone else might think.”

I nod. “I'm trying not to.”

“Then stop trying and do something about it.”

I stare at her.

She pats my cheek. “Now take that girl her coffee before it gets cold.”

The back door sticks a little when I pull it open. It always has. Coach claims he's going to fix it every summer. Never does.

Cold air rushes inside, carrying the clean smell of snow and woodsmoke from a neighboring chimney.

I step onto the porch and pull the door shut behind me.

Delaney sits on the old wooden swing beneath a thick red-and-green quilt, her knees drawn up and her feet tucked underneath her. Her hair is piled into a messy knot, and she's wearing glasses. Christmas pajamas peek out from beneath the blanket. She's staring across the backyard, where fresh snow covers the fence and the branches of the maple tree.

The swing creaks softly as she moves.

I stand there for a second, watching her. She's beautiful.

Not because of the pajamas or the glasses or the way the cold has turned the tip of her nose pink. Because she's Delaney.

And I can't believe I've spent so much time worrying about losing everyone else that I nearly let myself lose her.