"Your dad's going to find out."
"Let him."
"Everly—"
"Stop. Just stop. I'm tired of hearing about my dad, tired of hearing about all the reasons we can't do this. Either you want me or you don't, but stop making excuses."
"It's not an excuse."
"Then what is it?"
He turns to face me fully and his eyes are dark. "It's self-preservation."
"From what?"
"From you, from this, from wanting something I can't have."
"You can have it. You're just choosing not to."
"Because the consequences?—"
"Fuck the consequences." The words come out sharper than I mean them to. "You know what, I'm done. I'm done pushing, I'm done waiting, I'm done playing this game."
I stand up to leave and he grabs my hand.
"Don't go."
"Give me a reason to stay."
He pulls me closer and his hand comes to my face. The touch is gentler this time but no less possessive.
"I want you," he says quietly. "I want you so badly it's killing me."
"Then have me."
"I can't."
I pull back. "Yes, you can. You're just choosing not to. And I'm done waiting for you to figure that out."
I walk away and this time he doesn't follow.
But I can feel his eyes on me the whole way to the door.
I'm halfway home when my phone buzzes again.
Rush: I'm sorry.
I stare at the message for a long second, then I type back.
Me: Sorry doesn't fix this.
Rush: I know.
Me: Then what are you going to do about it?
He doesn't respond. I toss my phone on the passenger seat.
I meant what I said. I'm done pushing.