"Then why can't Iexistin your life?"
He exhales hard. "Because I'm scared. But not of you. Of what I could lose. I know that's selfish. But I want both. I wantyou. I just need a little more time."
I look at him. The way his shoulders are slumped. The way he's pleading with his eyes.
And I want to scream. Because I know I'm going to say yes.
Not because I believe it'll magically get better. But because a part of me is still convinced that this—thismessy, halfway version of love—is the best I'm ever going to get. Because deep down, I don't believe someone like me gets chosen in the daylight. He reaches out and pulls me into his chest like it's the only way he knows how to explain himself anymore. I should pull away. I should shove him back and slam the door and never speak to him again. But I don't.
Instead, I let myself fold against him. My arms stay stiff at my sides, but my body leans into the warmth of his hoodie, into the rhythm of his breath against my temple. He smells likecinnamon gum and gym sweat and every stupid memory I wish I didn't have.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispers into my hair. "I swear. I never wanted this to happen like that." But itdid. And heletit.
My throat tightens. I can't stop the tears. They're hot and humiliating, sliding down my cheeks like they've been waiting all day to escape. My face is wet, my heart feels like it's cracked into pieces too small to ever glue back together.
"I hate how easy this is for you," I whisper, voice shaking. "You get to walk away from a lie and call it survival. I have to sit here and pretend I'm okay being the one you hide."
He pulls back just enough to cup my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing my tears away like they don't cost me something. "That's not what this is. You're not something I'm hiding. You're something I'm trying to protect."
I want to scream. "Don't you dare twist this like it's a favor."
"I'm just asking for time."
"That's all I ever give you," I say bitterly. "Time. Patience. Silence."
He doesn't argue. He just stares at me like I'm the one thing in the room still worth praying for. "Please, December. Just four more months. And then I'll tell the world. I'll hold your hand in every damn coffee shop in the city. I'll tell anyone who looks at you sideways that you're mine. I promise."
I let out a shaky laugh. "You think I believe in promises?"
"No," he says quietly. "But I'm hoping you believe inme."
And that's the worst part—I do.
Even after everything, I believe in this broken version of him more than I've ever believed in myself. Because somewhere along the way, I started thinking that love wasn't about being seen or chosen or claimed. I started thinking it was about staying quiet enough to keep someone from leaving.
And maybe that's my fault. Maybe it is because I was taught to find shelter in half-closed doors and call it home.
So I nod.
Not because I forgive him. Not because I'm okay. But because I'm tired of fighting for more when I don't even believe I deserve it.
CHAPTER 7: LACE AND LOVE
When we were alone, he was heaven.
Not the kind of loud, flashy, blinding kind of love. No. Ryder loved in quieter ways. Like when he brought me lemon muffins on Mondays because he remembered I told him once, once, that Mondays made my chest feel heavy. Or the way he'd pull me into him at night—arms warm and protective—and whisper,"You're beautiful, you know that? I never thought relationships could be this wonderful and peaceful"
It was the small things. His fingers tracing the soft part of my wrist while we lay tangled on my couch, his hoodie drowning me, my legs curled in his lap. A kiss that felt like a promise he was too scared to say out loud.
When I forgot to eat, he'd wordlessly hand me a sandwich. When my hands shook, he'd wrap his warm palms around them without asking why. And sometimes, when the nightmares woke me, he'd just... be there.
I was starving. For touch. For care. For something that felt like love, even if I had to squint and bend the meaning to believe it. I took his crumbs and made them a feast, because I didn't know better. Because I'd never had more. I convinced myself I was the exception.
That I was special.
That I was wanted.
I ignored the truth. Pushed it down like I had so many other truths. The voice in my head that said,He doesn't choose you in the daylight.We didn't go out together. He didn't post me. No labels. No late-night calls that weren't hushed. And I never asked.
