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“Can’t?” I grit out before she can run away from her feelings yet again. “Or won’t?”

Her shoulders rise and fall with a shaky breath. Then she glances over her shoulder at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You may be sorry, but I’m not.” I take a step toward her. “I’m not sorry I kissed you.” Another step. “I’m not sorry I slept with you.” Another step. “And I’m sure as fuck not sorry I fell in love with you.”

She slowly turns to face me, and I can see the battle raging inside her.

“I don’t regret a second of it, Wynter. And I know you don’t either. But I do know you’ll regret it if you walk out that door. I know you don’t want to. You think you have to. But you can choose something else. Something better. I’m not asking you to choose me. I’m asking you to choose yourself.”

Her lips part, and I see it.

The hesitation. The second-guessing. The tiny crack in her resolve.

But then she looks down and places a hand over her stomach.

“It’s not only me anymore. I can’t choose myself. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand all right.” I lean into her. “I understand you’re fucking scared. That’s all this is.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do. Because I know you. You’re scared of taking a risk. Of finally feeling something real. So you’re doing what you’ve always done. Letting everyone else dictate your life.”

“No, I’m not. I⁠—”

“You’re doing what they think you should do,” I continue. “But your life isn’t theirs to live. It’s yours.” My voice breaks, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not now. “So start fucking living it. It doesn’t have to be with me. But it doesn’t have to be with him, either.”

For a moment, we remain frozen as we stare at each other, the only sound filling Bennett’s townhouse that of my uneven breathing and breaking heart.

Then she whispers, “I have to go.”

Of course she does.

“Fine,” I spit out, throwing up my hands in exasperation. “Go back to your life with Wyatt. But before you do, answer me one question. And be honest. I deserve that much.”

She pauses with her hand on the knob, then slowly faces me, her blank expression not giving anything away.

“Do I mean anything to you? Did the past few weeks mean anything to you?”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she holds her head high, pretending to be unaffected.

“Tell me I mean nothing to you. That you don’t love me.” With each statement, I take another step toward her, slowly eating up the space between us. “That you’re not doing this because you’re scared of actually feeling something real.”

Her chin quivers, and she sucks in her bottom lip to stop it.

“Tell me you haven’t fallen asleep wishing my arms were around you. That you haven’t touched yourself and thought about all the things I made you feel. That whenever you’re with Wyatt, you’re not wishing it was me touching you, kissing you, making love to you. Tell me, Wynter, and you’ll never see my face or hear my voice again.”

I hover over her, my eyes boring into hers.

“But I need to hear you tell me I mean absolutely nothing to you.”

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Then she sets her jaw, her gaze hardening. “You. Mean. Nothing.”