Page 298 of Playing With Fire

“I know.”

“Instead, you did the exact same thing.”

He doesn't argue.

And somehow, that hurts worse.

“I love my brother,” I say. “And I love my parents. I know what they've meant to you.”

His expression tightens.

“But I'm not eighteen anymore, Bishop. I'm not some little girl you have to protect from her own feelings.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop treating me like someone you have to hide.”

He steps closer. “Becks, I don't want to lose them.”

My throat tightens. “And what about me?”

He freezes.

I shake my head.

“Have you ever stopped to think that you could lose me?”

“Laney—”

“Because I can't keep doing this. I can't keep being the person you want when we're alone, and the person you pretend doesn't matter when someone else walks into the room.”

He looks like I've hit him.

Good.

Maybe he needs to understand what this feels like.

“I don't regret anything that's happened between us,” I tell him. “Not one second. But I won't spend the rest of my life waiting for you to decide whether I'm worth the risk.”

He swallows. “You are.”

“Then act like it.”

Silence settles between us.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock strikes the hour.

Bishop looks toward the door, then back at me.

“I don't know how to do this without risking everything.”

I wipe at my cheek. “Maybe you can't.”

His jaw tightens. “Laney.”

“I think you should go.”

He doesn't move.