But then he spoke. Soft. Broken. “Please don’t go, B.” The words barely made a sound, but they hit me like a punch to the ribs. “I know I don’t deserve to ask for anything,” he said quietly. “I know I can’t undo any of it.” He swallowed. “But Beverly, I⁠—”

I shook my head.

I couldn’t do this.

Not now. Not today.

Not when I was already unraveling at the seams.

I ripped my seatbelt off, my hands shaking as I reached for the door handle. “I have to go.”

For a second, I thought he might stop me. Thought he might reach across the console, might pull me back, might finally say the words that had been sitting between us for years.

But he didn’t.

He just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, staring out the windshield like he was trying to convince himself to let me go.

I had one foot out the door when Blake said, “Please.”

I froze with my hand still on the door handle, gripping it so tightly my fingers ached. “If you really don’t want me to go, you’ll tell Mom and Dad what you wanted to tell them months ago.”

His eyes snapped to mine, something panicked flashing behind them, as if I had just reached inside his chest and gripped his heart in my hands.

I tilted my head, arching a brow.

He didn’t say a word. Because he wouldn’t.

And I knew why. Because Blake never took a step unless he was sure of the outcome. I understood why he hadn’t told them back then. Why he hadn’t said a word when Mom got sick, when everything felt like it was hanging by a thread. I understood why he had buried it, swallowed it whole, let it rot inside of him instead of speaking it into existence. I got it.

But now? After all this time? After months of silence, of pretending I didn’t exist, of ignoring me like I was nothing just because he was too afraid to deal with what he felt?

What was his plan? Apologizing in stolen moments, pulling me aside when he felt like it, whispering things when no one else could hear, and then expecting me to pretend none of it ever happened? Expecting me to wait for him to decide when it was convenient to care again? Keeping me a secret?

No. I wouldn’t do it.

I wouldn’t let him pull me back into something that would only end with me shattered at his feet. I deserved better than that. And maybe that was the worst part—knowing he knew that, too.

I stared at him, waiting. For what, I didn’t know.

My voice was quiet when I said, “Thanks for the ride, Blake.”

I got out of the car and told myself I wanted to walk away.