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“You are my life.”

He didn’t say it like a tender confession. He declared it like a vow. A truth etched into his very being, as if he’d longago accepted the cost of feeling that way. A flash of something unreadable crossed his face before he continued, his voice low and calm, yet charged with intensity.

“I don’t care about being fair, I care about you. If that means I drop everything any time you need me, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. You don’t get to question it. That’s just how it is.”

How could he say things like that so casually? So damn certain like it wasn’t shattering every fragile boundary I was pretending still existed. I looked away, reminded of the texts he’d sent. Of the way he’d been looking at me lately. Of the kiss, that we never brought up since it happened. We needed to talk. God, wereallyneeded to have it out. But was it the right time? Was I supposed to cram whateverthiswas on top of everything else?

A pregnancy scare.

Assignments waiting in my bag that my GPA depended on.

My best friend looked like he was seconds from snapping someone’s neck.

A masked asshole popping up like a game of Guess Who, that just chased me down a sidewalk with their damn car. Yeah. Priorities were clearly spiraling. I glanced over at him, failing miserably to hide my amusement. “I’m your life, huh?”

He sighed like I was exhausting, shaking his head. “See? You love that I’m hopelessly devoted to you. I knew you appreciated the serenade.”

The memory came like a flash: him, back in high school, beltingHopelessly Devoted to Youat full volume between classes every day for nearly two weeks. He got half the football team involved, turned the halls into a borderline musical, all because we watched Grease once and I cried. He knew exactly what I was remembering. That glint in his eyes gave him away, smug and so sure of himself. It made me want to shove him out of the car.

“Remember how red you used to get?”

“I remember mentally mapping out every nearby locker I could crawl into,” I retorted flatly. “I’m still not over it.”

“Liar.” He grinned. “You loved it.”

“Ihatedit. Me and the girls still have secondhand embarrassment and have chosen to bury the trauma. I was one hallway performance away from transferring schools.”

He laughed, eyes still fixed on the road. “I would’ve followed you.”

“Yeah, probably,” I agreed.

“Not probably. You wouldn’t be getting away from me that easily.”

There it was again, that thing in his voice. The quiet certainty made it impossible to pretend we were just joking.

“You did love it, though. Admit it.”

“I assure you, I did not.”

“You do. I have a beautiful voice, after all.”

I scoffed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Confident,” he corrected.

“And delusional.”

He glanced over, a beautiful smile curving into something that made my chest ache. “Still your favorite problem to have, though.”

“Unfortunately.”

We were both smiling now. Like we hadn’t been dancing around tension and heartbreak for months, as if he wasn’t talking about painfully killing someone on my behalf five minutes ago. He pulled into the small, mostly empty lot of Davie’s Drugstore, the neon sign lit above us.

As soon as Ryder put the truck into park, I unbuckled and reached for the door. “I’ll be quick.”

“You want me to come with?”

“No.” I paused just long enough to look at him. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

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