Steps back.
“I don’t know if I can love like you can,” he says quietly. “Maybe we should just be friends.”
For a second, it knocks the wind out of me.
But I square my shoulders. Not letting him run.
I cross my arms, forcing myself to look at him, even though it hurts. “Is that what you want?”
Alfie hesitates. It’s the smallest thing—a flicker in his expression, a pause before he speaks—but I see it.
His jaw tightens. “It’s what makes sense.”
Something sharp twists inside me.
“You keep doing this.” My voice is quiet, but firm. “You push people away before they can disappoint you. Before they can hurt you. Before you even give them a chance.”
His head snaps up, eyes dark. “Tara?—”
“No.” I step closer. “You did it with your family. You do it with friends. And now, you’re doing it with me.”
He lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Then stop making my decisions for me.” My hands clench at my sides. “If you don’t want me, fine. Say that. Say you regret it, say it meant nothing?—”
He flinches.
“But don’t stand here and pretend you’re walking away for my sake,” I continue. “Because if you do, you’re lying. To me. To yourself.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and buzzing with everything unsaid.
His hand lifts—just slightly—like he wants to reach for me but can’t let himself.
Finally, he exhales, voice hoarse. “I don’t want to be my father.”
I still.
His words are raw, stripped of all their usual careful control.
“I don’t want to pull you into something that’ll ruin us both,” he continues, voice low. “I don’t want to be the reason you wake up one day and realize you should’ve chosen someone else. Someone safer.”
I shake my head. “Alfie?—”
“Most of all, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again, softer this time.
I take a deep breath. “And I don’t want to spend my life being controlled by other people’s expectations. Not my parents. Not Troy. And not you.”
His eyes flick to mine—sharp, searching.
“This is my choice,” I say. “I want you. I don’t care if it’s messy. I don’t care if it’s complicated. I care that it’s real.”
He doesn’t move.
“Do you even know what you want, Alfie Spencer?” I push him, I challenge him, because we’ve never gone easy with each other.
Alfie doesn’t hesitate this time.
His jaw hardens, and instead of stepping back, he steps forward—closing the space between us in one smooth, deliberate motion.
