I take a breath, the words crowding in my throat.To say I’m sorry. To tell you she was wrong. To ask if she was right.
But all I manage is, “I just… I didn’t want to leave it like that.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Then he steps back, opening the door wider.
“Come in.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lyla
The Lawson house feels colder inside than it does outside, the kind of chill that comes from rooms stripped bare. Tools and paint cans are stacked against the wall, the air thick with the scent of sawdust and primer.
Damien closes the door behind me, the click echoing in the quiet.
I turn to face him. “She didn’t mean it.”
His eyes flick to mine, unreadable. “She did. And she’s allowed to.”
“No, Damien—”
“Yes, Lyla,” he says, his voice harder now. “She’s his mom. She’s allowed to be angry. To blame me. I was there, and he’s not. That’s enough for her.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t let it stop me. “Then tell me why. Tell me what happened.”
The muscles in his jaw tense. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do,” I press. “Colton told me to ask. My mom—” I stop, my voice catching, but I push through it. “Damien, I’ve beenwondering for years. You were his best friend. You were with him that night. And then you left. You didn’t come to the funeral. You didn’t say goodbye.”
His gaze is locked on mine, his shoulders rigid. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to tell me. That the wall between us is finally going to crack.
But then he shakes his head. “If I tell you, Lyla, you’ll never look at me the same way again.”
The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush me.
His words hang in the air —you’ll never look at me the same way again— and my chest aches with the weight of everything we’re not saying.
But then his voice drops, rough and low. “I love you, Lyla.”
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp breath.
“I’ve loved you longer than I should’ve,” he goes on, and his eyes are dark, but there’s no holding back in them now. “And I know this thing between us is supposed to be pretend. But I want to live in that lie a little longer. Just… let me have this. Let me pretend you’re mine. That you’ve always been mine.”
The crack in his voice undoes me. He looks… broken. Like this confession costs him something he can’t get back.
I step closer, my fingers curling at my sides to keep from touching him. “You think I haven’t wanted to know you? Really know you?” My voice wavers, but I keep going. “Aaron was always there, in the middle. And you made sure to push me away every time I got close. I thought maybe I imagined it — that maybe I was just some annoying little sister in your eyes. But I saw you, Damien. I’ve always seen you.”
His jaw works, like he’s trying to keep himself steady.
“We’re not those kids anymore,” I whisper. “Aaron isn’t here. Colton isn’t in the way. It’s just us.”
For a long moment, he just looks at me, like he’s memorizing the words, maybe trying to believe them.
And then his hand lifts, slow and deliberate, until his fingers are brushing my cheek.
His palm is warm against my cheek, his thumb sweeping lightly over my skin like he’s testing whether I’ll pull away. I don’t. I can’t.
The first brush of his lips is slow, tentative — like he’s tasting the moment more than the kiss itself. It’s the kind of kiss you give when you’re afraid the other person might vanish if you move too fast.
