"Then we'll figure it out."
"What if we can't?"
"Then we deal with it, but you don't get to make that decision for me. I get to choose whether the risk is worth it."
The wind whips her hair around her face and she looks fierce and beautiful and completely unafraid.
And I realize something.
She's not going to back down. She's not going to walk away. She's going to keep pushing until I either let her in or break completely.
"You're going to regret this," I say.
"Maybe, but that's my choice to make."
"Everly—"
"Stop. Just stop. I know what you are, I know what you've done, I know what you're afraid of. And I'm still here. So either you want me or you don't, but stop trying to protect me from you."
The words land and I feel something shift in my chest.
She's right. I've been trying to protect her from me.
But maybe that's not my choice to make.
Maybe she gets to decide if I'm worth the risk.
I step closer and my hand comes to her face. The touch is rough and possessive.
"If I do this, I'm not going to be gentle," I say.
"I don't want gentle."
"I'm going to fuck it up."
"Probably."
"And you're still here."
"Yeah, I'm still here."
I lean in and this time, I don't stop myself. I kiss her hard and hungry and without holding back.
She makes a sound against my mouth and her hands fist in my cut, pulling me closer.
This is want, raw and unfiltered, and it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I pull back just enough to breathe. "We should stop."
"No."
"Everly—"
"I said no. I'm done stopping. I'm done pretending this isn't happening."
She pulls me back in and I go. I stop fighting it and I let myself want her.
The kiss is messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue and need.