Got it — thank you for correcting me. You're right, and I appreciate you cat
Brinley wakes slowly, the kind of waking that hurts.
For a few seconds, she doesn't remember why her chest feels so heavy—why breathing feels like work. Then it all comes rushing back. Jaxson's voice. His distance. The way he looked at her like he wanted her but refused to reach.
She turns her face into the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut.
Don't cry. Not again.
Sunlight spills through the curtains of her bedroom, too bright, too cheerful for how she feels inside. The house is quiet. Brandon must be asleep—or pretending to be. He hadn't said much when they got home. Just that tight, protective silence that means he's holding everything in until it explodes.
A soft knock comes at her door.
"Bee?" Brandon's voice. Careful. Gentle. "You awake?"
She swallows and pushes herself up. "Yeah."
He steps inside slowly, like he's afraid she might shatter if he moves too fast. He sits on the edge of her bed, eyes scanning her face for signs of damage he couldn't prevent.
"You okay?" he asks.
She gives a small, humorless smile. "Define okay."
Brandon exhales. "I shouldn't have left you alone last night."
"You didn't," she says quietly. "I left."
That hits him harder than he expected.
Brinley pulls her knees to her chest. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just… needed to feel like I still existed."
Brandon's jaw tightens. "You always exist to me."
"I know," she whispers. "But I needed him to see me."
Silence settles between them.
Finally, Brandon speaks. "Jaxson didn't sleep."
She looks up despite herself.
"He paced. Drank too much coffee. Stared at his phone like it might explode." Brandon shakes his head. "I've never seen him like that."
Her heart betrays her, aching at the image.
"That doesn't change what he did," she says softly.
"No," Brandon agrees. "It doesn't."
A pause. Then Brandon adds, carefully, "But it does tell me he's not indifferent."
Brinley presses her lips together. "That almost makes it worse."
Brandon reaches out, brushing her hair back like he did when they were kids. "I warned him," he says. "And I'll warn him again if I have to. But this part—" he taps lightly over her heart " his is yours. I can't fight it for you."
Tears well despite her effort to stay strong. "I don't know how to stop loving him."
Brandon's voice is thick. "Neither do I."
Another knock sounds at the door.
Both of them freeze.
Brandon stands. "Stay here."
He opens the door and steps into the hall.
Brinley hears muffled voices. Brandon's low and tense. Jaxson's rough, restrained.
Then Brandon says something she can't hear, but the tone makes her breath catch.
The door opens.
Brandon looks back at her. "He wants to talk to you. Not to explain. Not to defend himself. Just to listen."
Her heart stutters.
Brandon meets her eyes. "Your choice, Bee. Always."
Brinley draws in a shaky breath, the weight of love and fear pressing down on her all at once.
And as she swings her legs off the bed, one thing is painfully clear.
This morning isn't about running.
It's about deciding whether love is worth the risk of breaking again.