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“I’m asking because I care what happens to us.”

“So do I. But I can’t tell you exactly what we’ll be four months from now. I can tell you I want this now. I can tell you I’m not planning to meet someone else the second you cross the state line. I can tell you I’ll visit when I can, and I’ll miss spending time in the same room as you. Sleeping with you.”

He looks down.

“What I can’t do is promise you nothing will change, because of course things will change. I might be part owner of Black Fern by then. Your album will be out. Jack will be bigger. You’ll have spent months traveling again.” I step closer. “Change doesn’t automatically mean we lose each other.”

“I know.”

But he says it the same way he’s said it every time we’ve had some version of this conversation. Like he understands it in theory and still wants something more from me.

I reach for his hand. “I think you need to figure out what you want your life to look like if touring is going to keep being part of it.”

His fingers close around mine, but there’s tension in his grip. “And where does that leave you?”

“That’s the question you keep asking me to answer for you.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, Zander.”

He lets go and takes a step back.

I immediately miss the contact, which only makes this worse.

“I don’t know what you want from me right now,” he says.

“I don’t want anything from you tonight except for you to stop making me responsible for making this decision feel safe.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then maybe you need a little time to figure out what you are doing.”

The room goes quiet.

His eyes meet mine. “You want me to leave?”

I hate the way that sounds.

“No.” I swallow. “I think we need a few days where you figure this out without looking at me for the answer, because I don’t have it.”

He just looks at me, brows pulled together, like he doesn’t even know where to start. He looks genuinely lost.

“I want you,” I tell him. “I want what we have. But I’m not going to spend the next few weeks proving I’ll still be here every time you get scared about leaving.”

His expression changes, some of the defensiveness giving way to something tired.

“I’m scared too,” I say. “I just can’t carry yours and mine at the same time.”

He nods once. “I should go.”

I don’t want him to, but I don’t try to stop him.

He walks to the door, then turns back before opening it. For half a second, I think one of us is going to undo the entire conversation.

“I am happy for you, Ruby.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly breaks me. “I know.”