I can’t, because relaxing is impossible when I know exactly what kind of damn person my brother is. I watch him for a second longer, trying to figure out his angle. He just gives me that unreadable look and slides into his driver’s seat. I curse under my breath, shove into my car, and pull out of the driveway, my heart thudding harder than it should. I don’t know what Tate’s planning, but I know I don’t trust it.

I finally pull up in front of the Airbnb, hands gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

This is it, I can see the rental from here. There’s a car in the driveway that I assume is Haven’s.

She’s right there, and I am so not fucking ready. My palms are sweaty. My brain is running at a million miles an hour, still.

What if this is weird? What if she regrets coming? What if she takes one look at me in person and… I blow out a breath and drop my forehead against the steering wheel.

I need to get out of the car. I need to get out of the car, walk up to the door, and act like a normal human being. Any second now… any second. I lift my head, inhale deep. My phone buzzes.

5

Haven

The longer I sit on this couch, the heavier it gets. It wraps tight around my chest, squeezes behind my ribs, settles like a fist in my stomach that refuses to unclench. Every passing second drags louder. My palms are damp and my leg won’t stop bouncing. I keep checking the same three apps on my phone like something’s going to change.

Cassie, of course, has completely abandoned me. She’s sprawled across the bed in the next room like we didn’t just drive fifty-something miles to meet a guy I’ve never seen in real life. She’s scrolling like it’s just another day, like I’m not five minutes from having a full-blown anxiety attack and possibly yeeting myself out the nearest window.

I wish I could be that calm. That detached. That cool, but I’m not.

Now I’m about to see his face. His real face. What if he doesn’t like mine?

Sure he sees it on stream, but what if I make a weird face, or my hair goes crazy. What if I say something awkward or weird or try to make a joke and it just dies in the space between us?

My fingers twist in the hem of my hoodie as I try to breathe like a normal person, not someone actively questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

Expectation versus reality. That’s the space I’m trapped in. Every late-night message. Every flirty comment. Every time he called me babe or sent a stupid gif that somehow made me blush, it’s all led to this.