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“You already did tonight.”

The words hang there.

Connor’s expression tightens. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Because I walked into a situation where three guys I trust were standing in my kitchen with my sister and I didn’t know what the hell was going on. That’s not the same as you coming to me and telling me the truth.”

I don’t argue that.

Because I can’t.

He drags a hand through his hair, pacing again, this time not stopping right away.

“I’m supposed to have your back,” he says. “That’s the whole thing. That’s always been the thing. And I walk in tonight and I don’t even know what I’m backing you up on.”

“I didn’t know how to explain it.”

“Because it’s not simple,” I say, more force behind it now. “It’s not one thing I can point to and make sense for you.”

Connor doesn’t interrupt.

“I care about them,” I continue. “All of them. This isn’t just something that happened—it’s not just sex or convenience or whatever you think it is.”

My voice steadies.

“It works. I don’t know how else to explain that part, but it does.”

Connor watches me carefully.

“And I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” I add. “Not this steady. Not this… sure about what I want.”

“Then you say that,” he snaps. “You say, ‘I don’t know what this is yet, but I need you to trust me.’ You don’t just shut me out for months and then expect me to catch up in five minutes.”

“I wasn’t trying to shut you out,” I say, but it sounds weak even to me.

“You were,” he says. “From me, you were.”

That one lands deeper than the rest.

I look away.

The windows reflect us back—two people standing in a space that suddenly feels unfamiliar.

“I was scared,” I admit.

Connor’s pacing slows.

“Of me?” he asks.

“Of what you’d say,” I answer. “Of what it would turn into. Of losing this before I even understood what it was.”

He studies me for a long second.

“And now?” he asks.

“I’m still scared,” I say. “That didn’t go away.”