The plus one problem

Some Truths Can't Be Taken Back

And then—

"I've loved you since we were kids."

I stagger back.

Because no.

No, no, no.

This isn't—

He isn't—

"I used to tell myself I hated you," he says, his lips twitching in a humorless smile.

My throat is too tight to speak.

He exhales sharply. "I told myself that our stupid rivalry was real. That I needed to beat you. That if I just won enough times, I'd finally—" He lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "But that wasn't it."

He takes another step forward, and I don't move away.

"The truth?" His voice softens. "I just wanted to be near you."

Something tugs in my chest.

Because he means it.

Every word.

"I wanted an excuse," he admits, his voice lower now.

"An excuse to talk to you. To be close to you. To have a reason to look at you, to fight with you, to—" He lets out a frustrated breath, shaking his head.

"You were my excuse," he murmurs. "For everything."

And that's when I break.

"Wes—" I choke on his name, my pulse racing.

This is too much.

Too much.

I wasn't supposed to get this close.

Wasn't supposed to feel like this.

But now?

Now he's telling me he's loved me this entire time.

And I don't know what to do with that.

"Hallie."

A sharp voice cuts through the moment.

And just like that, I snap back to reality.

I turn, my chest still heaving.

My mother stands there, arms crossed.

Her voice is calm.

But her eyes?

They're tired and Conflicted. "We're leaving."

I look at Wes, at the way he's still watching me.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Begging me not to go.

And for one brief, fleeting second—

I almost stay.

But then—

I remember.

I don't know how to stay.

So I don't.

I let my mother take my hand.

And I let her pull me away.

Even though every part of me is screaming not to.

   The drive home is awful.

My mom doesn't speak.

I don't speak.

But I can feel her staring at me.

Like she's putting everything together.

And when she finally speaks—her tone is not happy

"Was it true?"

I inhale sharply. "Was what true?"

"What Ethan said," she clarifies, her voice too even.

"That you and Wes were never really dating."

I stare at my lap. "Yeah."

A long pause.

Then—

"Why?"

The question is so simple.

But the answer?

Not so much.

I shake my head, my fingers gripping my dress.

"I didn't mean to lie," I whisper. "It just... spiraled."

Mom exhales. "And Wes?"

I swallow hard. "What about him?"

"Did he mean it?" she asks, eyes sharp. "When he said he loves you?"

My breath catches.

Because that's the real question, isn't it?

Was it real for him?

For me?

For both of us?

"I think he meant it," I whisper.

She studies me. "And you?"

My chest aches.

Because I know the answer.

I know it.

But I can't say it.

Not yet.

So instead, I look out the window.

And my mother?

She sighs.

Because she already knows.

Even if I won't say it out loud.