“It’s not just you, Haven,” he murmurs. “I promise, he’s like that with everything. With everyone. He just… he doesn’t know how to want something good without completely consuming it. Moderation isn’t something that exists to him, and sometimes by no fault of his own, it’s not on purpose. It’s engraved in him.”

I can feel the weight of it all pressing down on me, filling every breath, every thought, tangling in the spaces between my ribs, tightening, constricting, demanding an answer I don’t have.

With Carter, who holds me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him, like he’d do anything to keep me close, to make me feel safe, wanted, cherished in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been before?

Tate, who pushes every single one of my buttons, who makes my blood heat, who drives me insane, who tests my limits, my control, who forces me to admit things I don’t even want to admit to myself? They’re completely different.

Carter is the golden light breaking through the storm, warm, steady, a kind of comfort that feels too good, too rare, something I could sink into forever and never want to come up for air.

Tate’s the storm itself. Wild, reckless, completely untamable. A force I’ll never be able to control, a pull I can’t ignore, something darker, something that challenges every part of me and dares me to take it.

I want both. I want Carter’s soft smiles, his careful hands, his whispered reassurances, the way he breathes my name like I’m something holy, something he’s wanted for so fucking long. I want Tate’s sharp grins, his rough touch, his filthy words, the way he looks at me like I’m a challenge he refuses to lose, like he’ll ruin me just to prove that he can.

I want the balance they give me, the way one keeps me grounded while the other makes me feel like I could burn the whole world down just to see what happens. I want them both, and I don’t know how to tell Carter that without completely fucking everything up.

So I swallow hard, force myself to breathe, to think, to find the right words, the ones that won’t make him shut down, the ones that won’t send him spiraling.

“Carter…” I hesitate, turning slightly, my fingers gripping his arm, holding him closer. “I don’t—” I exhale, shaking my head, hating how fucking hard this is to say. “You and Tate… you’re both so different.”

His jaw clenches, his throat bobbing as he swallows, his body stiff beneath mine. His fingers flexing against my waist like he already knows where this is going, like he’s bracing himself for something he doesn’t want to hear.