Page 143 of Show Me

Silence. I drag a hand down my face. Because apparently, I've spent the last five minutes convincing myself she's halfway out the door.

A laugh escapes her. Small. Disbelieving. “You thought I was leaving Brookhaven?”

Maybe. The look she gives me says exactly what she thinks of that.

“I've lived here my whole life. My dad’s here. My best friends are here.”

“I know.”

“Then why would I move?”

Because you're pulling away. Because you didn’t tell me. Because I hate how easy it was to picture you leaving. I don’t say any of that. “You didn’t tell me.”

The amusement fades. There it is. The real issue. Not the school. Not the distance. Us.

Her gaze drops back to the paperwork. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“You didn't think I'd care?”

Her pencil stops moving. For the first time since I walked inside. “I didn't know if I should tell you.”

I sink onto the couch beside her. “You should.”

Her eyes search mine. Why? The question hangs there even though she never says it.

I gesture toward the papers. “The school. Whatever comes next. I want to know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” The answer comes easy. Too easy. Because it's true.

She looks away first, down at the papers. At the notes she'd rather focus on—the things she can control.

I wait. Nothing. She keeps writing like the conversation’s over. Like I didn’t tell her something that felt dangerously close to something I never do.

Something inside me snaps. I reach over and pull the paper from her hands. Not rough. Not gentle either. Her head jerks up. “Hey.”

I set it on the coffee table, out of reach.

“What're you doing?”

“You don't get to do this.”

Her brows pull together. “Do what?”

“This.” I gesture between us. “Act like none of this matters. It does matter.”

“Not enough.” Her expression hardens.

I lean forward. “You've spent the last week acting as if you've already decided how this ends.”

Silence. Bullseye. I see it hit. She looks away. I keep going. “You don’t tell me things. You pull back. You make plans and keep them to yourself.”

“I’m protecting myself.” The words come out quiet. Honest. A punch to the chest.

I lean back as my stomach tightens. “From me.” She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. I already know. “You think this is temporary.”

Her throat works. “I think you made it clear what you want.”