She shifts her weight, her arms tightening across her chest.
“That’s it. That’s the whole story. There’s nothing else behind it.”
Silence stretches between us, andI can hear my own pulse in my ears.
Every moment replays in my head with brutal clarity — the text, the timing, the way she said yes,but, the way I cut her off before what followed thebutever had a chance to exist.
My stomach turns. My chest howls. And I feel like the biggest fucking idiot in the world.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, quieter this time, because the first one wasn’t enough and neither is this one. “I panicked, Carly. Half because I was worried about what that meant for Pen, and half because of my past, and I know that’s not right or fair to you.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I was afraid.”
Her brows knit together slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that.
“I know that’s not a great excuse,” I add. “But it’s the truth.”
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing once before I can stop myself, then forcing myself to stay still.
“My parents split when I was in high school,” I say, swallowing down the discomfort in my throat. “Right when everything else was starting to matter. Scholarships, games, college. They hated each other by then. Couldn’t even sit in the same stands for my games without it turning into a fight."
She watches me like she’s waiting for that to make sense.
“They wrecked each other. And it… It did something to me,” I admit. “Made me think that if they couldn’t make it work, then what was the point of trying? What was the point of caring about anyone enough to let them get close enough to wreck you?”
Carly is very still now.
“So I didn’t. Not really. I dated, slept around, kept everything surface-level because that was easier than dealing with the fallout when things inevitably went wrong.”
I meet her eyes.
“Then I met Halsey.”
Something flickers across her face.I force myself to push through it.
“I thought she was different. Thought she was real. Turns out she was just… better at hiding what she wanted out of it.”
I cringe at my own words, hating that I'm bringing her up even now, but I can't just pretend she didn't reinforce my idea of relationships.
“I got burned,” I say simply. “Bad enough that the only thing I trusted after that was Penelope. She’s the only person I’ve ever loved where it didn’t feel like there was a catch.”
My throat tightens.
“And then there was you.”
The words hang there in the space between us, heavy and unavoidable.
“You walked into my house and you were… real. Annoying as hell sometimes, but real. You didn’t want anything from me except space and respect. And I couldn’t avoid how much I wanted you.”
Her lips twitch, just barely.
“And somewhere along the line,” I continue, “you got past my walls, past the bullshit, past the part of me that kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
I swallow, my jaw working, trying to form the right words.
“So when I saw that text, I thought the shoe dropped. And I fucked everything up.”
