I look into his eyes without getting lost. He’s grounding me just as much as I’m grounding him.
“You’ve helped me more than anyone ever has,” he says quietly. “Because you care. You really fucking care.”
He takes both my hands.
“I don’t want you thinking this is all on you. We’re in this together. But if it keeps you out of trouble, I’ll walk away from Arcadia.”
My breath catches.
This is Tom without the deflection. No performance. Just him.
I’m proud of him. Of who he is. Of who he’s becoming. It overwhelms me and suddenly I get the urge to move.
I stand and tug on his hand. “Come on. There’s something else I want to show you.”
We follow the trail along the cliff’s edge. It’s barely a path now—just pale rock and dust, the sea stretched out beside us. A few iguanas lounge on the stones, soaking up the heat, not bothering to look up as we pass.
“My plan was to get you scheduled with a psychologist for trauma therapy,” I say. “Someone outside Arcadia. If you’re staying with Calvin, you could actually do the work at your own pace. There’s no pressure to say yes. I just want you to know it’s an option. And if you ever decide you want it, I can make the call.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not ready to talk about my family. Or my past. Not with anyone else.”
“I get that.”
“I feel better sharing my stuff with you.”
“That’s okay. But you need to understand that talking is all it can be. And if I think you need targeted therapy, I’ll have to refer you.”
He lets the wind answer, It sends an extra dose of guilt into my stomach.
“Hey, I’m not abandoning you. I just need to be clear about what I can and can’t be for you.”
He nods. I can tell he’s not happy. And I already know the next part won’t help either.
“There’s one more thing. We need to cool off. Physically.”
“…Not have sex?”
“Yeah. We need to slow that down for a bit. I know it’s frustrating, but we crossed a line.”
“You think we can do that? After everything?”
I wish I had a better answer. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But it’s necessary.”
He exhales through his nose.
“If it keeps you out of trouble, I’ll do it. But I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want to either.”
He holds my gaze, and we both know we’ve just made a promise we’ll struggle to keep.
“Then what? We pretend we can ignore this?”
“No,” I say. “We don’t ignore it. We just don’t act on it.”
“Fuck it.”
“Fuck it,” I echo.
