Will said he cared about her, and she believed him. He said it would be different, and she believed him. But that didn’t change the fact that thinking about being with him gave her butterflies and jitters. That didn’t change the fact that every time she tried to express even half of her affection, she worried she was inviting unhappiness. That wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t the kind of relationship she wanted to give to him.

“I thought I was better,” she said out loud. “I thought I was … fixed. But I’m not.”

“You don’t need to be fixed, Abs,” Jase said. “Look at me.” He caught her hand and met her gaze with an uncharacteristically serious expression, the one that said he meant business, the one she saw once in a blue moon. “All I want for you is happiness. I don’t care how you get there. Will is my best friend and I love him, but I’ve gotta be honest, you could suck the marrow out of his bones and I’d secretly be on your side. You are my sister,” he said slowly, clearly, unapologetically. “I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t do, if it’s healthy or not, if it’s straightforward and simple or overcomplicated. I will never draw a line under you, and I will never want you to be fixed. Whatever you’re working with is good enough for me. Always has been, always will be. Okay?”

She exhaled shakily, those words surrounding her like the safety she hadn’t known she needed, the violence of her uncertainty calming a little, now. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Good. So. The real question is: happy—how do we get you there?”

“I am there,” she said honestly. “Most of the time. Just—Will. I wish things weren’t so complicated with Will.”

“Then uncomplicate them,” Jase said.

She knew he was right.

After years of careful avoidance, Abbie couldn’t stifle her feelings anymore. Will had practically dragged them out and forced them beneath a microscope, and the worst part was, he had no idea he’d done it because Abbie had handled the examination alone.

But she was done now, and the right path was scary but clear. She had to stop swinging between distance and longing, had to stop pushing him away while hoping, secretly, that he’d ask for more, had to stop claiming caution when really it was fear. Two facts mattered.

Will wanted her.

And she loved Will. So much, and so hard, that the idea of loving him out loud felt dangerous, like dynamite, inevitably explosive. She could feel herself pulling back from him because she was afraid that he might see it all inside her. What would he think? What would he do with the power that gave him?