He smiled.
“She will be.”
My knees locked.
I thought of Brittany, curled up on that couch, trusting me, needing me, falling asleep in my arms. I thought of the way she looked at me — like I was enough, like I was her safe place, like I was worth loving even when I couldn’t love myself.
And in that moment, I hated them both more than I’d ever hated anyone.
“You’ll announce the engagement next week,” my father added smoothly. “We’ll set a date for the summer.”
I shook my head slowly, breath shaking out of me. “You can’t do this.”
“Oh, but I can,” he murmured.
Sierra’s father checked his watch, smiling faintly. “We’ll expect you at dinner tomorrow.”
I didn’t remember leaving.
I only remembered the sound of my heart breaking in my chest.
---
Outside, I leaned against the wall of the house, head bowed, hands shaking.
The cold air hit my face, sharp and bitter.
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, dragging in a ragged breath.
How the hell was I supposed to walk away from her?
How was I supposed to stand in front of Brittany — soft, fierce, brilliant Brittany — and tell her I was breaking her heart for the sake of a family that had never once cared if I was happy?
A soft sound scraped out of my throat — half-laugh, half-sob.
I sank down onto the front steps, elbows on my knees, fingers digging into my hair.
For the first time in my life, I wanted to run.
Not from responsibility.
Not from pressure.
But toward her.
Toward the girl who saw me, really saw me, and loved me anyway.
But if I did, they’d crush her.
They’d ruin her.
And I couldn’t — wouldn’t — let that happen.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, chest heaving.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered into the dark. “I’m so, so sorry.”
And for the first time in years, I wondered if loving her had been the cruelest thing I’d ever done.
