Beverly’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “You meant it, right?” Her fingers squeezed mine, trembling slightly. “Last night. You meant it, didn’t you?”

Her eyes searched my face, desperate for reassurance.

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, B. I meant it.” And then, before I could overthink it, before I could ruin it, before I could give her even a second to doubt it: “I’m telling them.”

Her brows pulled together. “Telling who what?”

“Mom. Dad. Everyone.” My voice was hoarse, rough around the edges. “I’m telling them about us. I’m done pretending.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something—argue, maybe, tease, make a joke to lighten the moment.

I didn’t let her.

“I’m yours, B. And I’m not hiding it anymore.”

Her eyes went wide. For a second, she just stared at me.

Like she didn’t believe it.

Like she had been waiting to hear it for so long that now that it was real, she didn’t know what to do with it.

I chuckled softly. “Speechless?”

She let out a breathless laugh, blinking rapidly. “Shut up.”

I grinned. “Say it back.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling—the kind of smile I wanted to bottle up and sip from on the bad days. And then—soft, quiet, wrecking me completely, “I’m yours, Blake.”

My throat tightened.

I kissed her.

Beverly let out a soft breath—relief, maybe?

She smiled against my lips. And I knew, right then and there, that I was never going to stop chasing that smile.

* * *

The November air clung to my skin as I pulled into the driveway, cold and biting, seeping into my bones even with the heater blasting. My fingers gripped the steering wheel, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs like it wanted to break free. The weight in my chest had been building all day, pressing down on me with every second, with every stolen glance at Beverly, with every time I let myself imagine this moment and its aftermath. I had spent the entire day preparing myself. For saying the words out loud. For watching the look on their faces as I shattered whatever image they had of me.

Every class blurred together, every conversation with Jamal was white noise, every glance Beverly threw my way sent my pulse into overdrive. Through every meaningless, forgettable moment in school, I had been rehearsing the words in my head. Not because I thought they’d be hard to say, but because I needed to say them right. I had always thought about this moment in the abstract—some far-off, hypothetical conversation that I could put off for later, when I wasn’t so afraid of what they’d say, what it would mean. But last night had changed everything.

Last night, I had let myself have her.

And now, I had to stop pretending I didn’t want to keep her.