Page 26
“You’re rambling,” I say.
Her mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Sorry. I was trying to fill the silence. You weren’t exactly contributing.”
Silence is the only thing keeping me sane right now.
“I’m contributing by not making this weird.”
Her eyes narrow. “You think I’m making it weird?”
I know I’m being an asshole. I hear it in my own voice. But the truth is, I need the distance. Physically. Mentally. Every kind of way.
If I let her keep talking, if I let her keep laughing and looking at me with those bright eyes and that mouth I keep imagining on mine, I’m going to do something I’ll regret.
So, yeah, I’m being a dick. It’s the only thing standing between me and the edge of a cliff I know damn well I’ll jump off the second she gives me permission.
Her face doesn’t crumple. She doesn’t snap back or roll her eyes. That would be easier.
Instead, she just…goes quiet.
That’s when I know I’ve done it. I’ve hurt her.
It’s in the way she won’t quite meet my eyes. The way she shifts an inch farther away like she’s trying to shrink herself down. Whitley, who walks into every room like she owns it, who fills silence like it’s her birthright, is suddenly…small.
Shit.
“Red—”
The smile she throws at me is all wrong, and her voice is light in a way that’s far too practiced. Performed. “No, by all means. It’s a good thing you’re here to keep things painfully normal.”
She stands up, and I can’t bring myself to look at her as she pulls herself out of the hot tub. I should say something. Apologize. But the words are stuck in my throat.
Instead, I just watch the water ripple where she was, and I don’t follow her, because I know I’ve fucked up. I let her walk away without a word. I deserve whatever distance she puts between us now.
I lean back against the tub, staring at the darkening sky above, and try to ignore the way my chest tightens. The stars overhead blur together as I close my eyes, remembering the exact moment her smile faltered.
Fuck. I’m an idiot.
I drag myself out of the water, towel off roughly, and head inside. The cottage is too quiet without her constant chatter filling every corner.
I stand in the hallway between our rooms, water still dripping from my hair and down my back. Her door is closed, light seeping out from underneath. I should knock. Say something. Fix this.
I take a step forward, raise my fist to the wood, and freeze when I hear it.
A soft, muffled sound from the other side of the door. The unmistakable catch of breath followed by a muted sniffle.
She’s crying.
I stand there, fist hovering in midair, and my chest tightens as if someone just wrapped a rope around my ribs. I want to knock, to open that door and make everything right. But I can’t. I’m not good at that shit. Not good at apologizing or talking about feelings.
It wasn’t always this hard to keep people at arm’s length. I used to be good at it, a master, even. I learned young that emotions weren’t safe. At home, they were either explosive or forbidden—never anything in between. My mom? Volatile, all over the place. One minute, she’d be holding me too tight, crying into my hair, telling me how much she loved me. The next, she’d be stone cold, treating me like I didn’t exist.
And my dad? Always in control. He believed feelings were a weakness. Silence was the answer every time. Vulnerability? That just got you punished.
The best way to survive was to be invisible. So, I became that. I tiptoed through life, always watching, always waiting for the next storm to hit. I never asked for comfort. Never made a scene. My needs? Those were secrets.
I know better. I should’ve stayed distant, kept it together. But Whitley makes it tough.
I take a deep breath and rub a hand over the back of my neck. I need to walk away and give her the space she probably needs right now. But it’s killing me, knowing I’ve made her feel this way.
