He freezes.
“I’ll admit I considered it, for a moment. Before we were anything…real. But even if none of this is real, even if it’s all still nothing, I wouldn’t take it. I swear.”
His jaw tightens, guard up instantly. “How did you?—”
“Know that you knew?” I exhale. “You’ve been weird ever since that night at Luzia. Then Drake said something about ‘elegant solutions’ and...” I shrug. “I put it together.”
His eyes flick to the floor. “I should have asked you about it.”
“Yeah. You should have.” I wrap the towel tighteraround myself. “Just like I should have told you about it in the first place.”
He nods, but I can see the weight in his shoulders.
A silence stretches between us—thick with things unsaid.
Then, softly he asks, “Why didn’t you?”
I exhale, heart hammering.
“Because I was trying so hard to prove I could handle everything myself,” I admit. “Even your mother. And then the James thing happened and...” I meet his eyes. “I was wrong about that, by the way.”
He tilts his head slightly, like he’s afraid to breathe too hard or I’ll vanish.
“About James?”
“About not wanting help.” I swallow. “I still want to handle things myself when I can. But that night at Moe’s with Troy made me realize—sometimes being strong means knowing when to let people help you.”
Something flickers across his face. A crack in the armor.
He steps closer, slow, careful. “I can’t promise not to want to protect you.”
“I’m not asking you to.” I hold his gaze. “I’m just asking you to trust that I can protect myself most of the time. And maybe...” My breath hitches. “Maybe trust that I’m strong enough to handle your family too.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. Realization. Relief. Something deeper.
“I know you can,” he murmurs.
But he still looks trapped.
Like he’s holding something back.
“You’re so afraid of your world tainting mine that you didn’t even give me a choice,” I say, voice quiet but steady.
He flinches.
“I’ve seen what they do to people,” he admits. “What they do to everyone who doesn’t fit their mold. How everything turns into a deal, an arrangement.”
I step closer, closing the distance. I need him to hear this.
“I’m not ‘people.’” I lift my chin. “I’m Tara freakin’ Hawkins.”
His lips twitch—like he wants to smile, but doesn’t let himself.
“You think I don’t see how different you are from them?” I say, softer now. “How hard you fight to be your own person?”
Something shifts in his expression.
Then—he shakes his head.
