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I wait for the yes. I want it so goddamn bad.

But it never comes.

Instead, when I open my eyes and look at her, I see it—the tiny flicker of panic that flashes across her face. It’s the sheer terror of letting someone past her armor. She wants me to take the choice out of her hands so she can avoid giving herself to this, avoid admitting she wants us. Because if I break the rules, she can blame me when the fallout hits and she regrets it tomorrow.

It takes every ounce of self-preservation I have left, because knowing she'd regret me in the morning would fucking break me, but I force myself to step back.

I drop my hands from the wall and put a couple of feet of space between us. Stepping away from her goes against every instinct I have, leaving my chest tight and my hands empty.

Goldie blinks, her hands falling to her sides. Her chest rises and falls fast. "Sumner?"

"I could kiss you right now," I tell her, my voice tight. "I could hike up your dress and fuck you right here against the wall, and I think you'd let me. But tomorrow morning, you'd wake up regretting it. You'd use it as an excuse to build your walls ten feet higher and lock me out because I crossed the line."

She stares at me, her throat working. She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.

"You've spent your whole life expecting the men in your life to let you down," I say, keeping my gaze locked on hers. "Your dad taking off. Grant cheating. You're just waiting for the other shoe to drop. You're waiting for me to decide this is too much work, or for me to get bored and leave. So you use these rules to keep me at arm's length to protect yourself."

She crosses her arms under her chest, her fingernails digging into her own skin. "I made those rules because we're having a baby, and I can't afford to ruin our co-parenting relationship. Plus, you're technically still married and you're currently sharing a bed with Colston every night. Our lives are a complete mess right now."

"That was a good excuse a month ago," I counter. "But you're still hiding behind it. You're using the mess to push me away because you're convinced I'm not going to stick around."

She flinches, looking away like I just slapped her.

"I'm not a tourist in your life, Goldie," I tell her. "I'm not passing through. I meant it when I told your mom I was in this for good. I want to wake up next to you. I want to rub your feet after you've been standing in the studio all day. I want to make you ice cream, and watch you hype up your friends, and take every ounce of that loud, unapologetic chaos you bring into a room, because it's the best goddamn part of my day. I want the whole thing."

A shaky breath escapes her lips. She leans her head back against the brick, looking at me like she doesn't know what to do with everything I just laid out for her.

"But I'm not going to force my way in," I tell her, fighting the urge to pull her right back against me. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. But I'm not going to be a mistake you blame on a weak moment. When we cross that line, you have to be the one to step over it. You have to look me in the eye and make the choice."

I take one last look at her, drinking in the flush on her chest and the slight tremble of her bottom lip. Fuck, she’s so beautiful it’s hard to take.

She lets out a shaky breath, her arms wrapping tight around her middle. She usually has a sarcastic joke or a quick comeback ready to go, but right now, she just looks stripped bare. "It's not that easy, Sumner," she whispers.

"I know," I tell her, giving in to the urge to brush her hair back from her face. “But you’re brave, Goldie. I believe in you.” I force myself to turn toward the door. "I'll be out by the bar. Take your time. Come back out whenever you're ready."

I grab the handle and shove it open. The muggy air coats my skin, followed by the loud chatter of the crowd. After being in the cool dark, it’s a little overwhelming. I step outside anyway, letting the door swing shut behind me, leaving her alone to figure out what she wants.

As much as I fucking hate it.

My hands are shaking, and sweat beads along my forehead. Walking away from her when she looks so lost feels like it just took years off my goddamn life.

I head straight toward the makeshift bar so I don’t go back inside and take everything I said back.

Trace is leaning against the wood, holding two fresh beers. He takes one look at my face, and his smirk vanishes. He hands me a bottle. “Jesus. You look like you need this way more than I do. Where is she?"

"Inside," I say, twisting the cap off the beer and taking a long pull.

Colston steps up next to Trace, his grin dropping. "Did you piss off my Goldie girl? Because I love you, man, but I'll absolutely take her side."

"I don’t know. I hope not," I grit out, leaning my elbows on the bar and staring a hole into the metal door across the roof. "Just leave it."

They exchange a look, but for once, they both have the sense to shut up.

I post up at the edge of the bar for the rest of the night. Colston keeps sliding me fresh beers, and by the time I finish the third one, a warm buzz finally settles over my brain. It dulls the sharpest edge of my frustration, which is the only reason I manage to keep my boots glued to the floor instead of doing something stupid.

I know the exact second Goldie steps back onto the roof. I track her through the crowd, but she doesn't look my way once. It stings more than I want to admit. I hate it. I have no idea where we stand after what I said in the stairwell, but this shitty uncertainty between us doesn’t change a damn thing. I still want her. I'm pretty sure I always will.

She heads straight for Ellie and Scout, putting on a bright smile that I know is fake.