Eli didn't sleep.
He lay on his back staring at the ceiling long after Nora's bedroom door had closed.
The house was too quiet.
He replayed the conversation over and over, searching for proof that he'd done the right thing.
You're confused.
You're comfortable with me.
The words tasted wrong now.
Too clinical. Too dismissive.
But necessary.
He had needed to believe them.
Because the alternative—
was that she had almost said she loved him.
And he had pushed it away.
He sat up around two in the morning, rubbing a hand over his face.
What if she wasn't in love?
What if he had imagined the depth in her voice?
What if what she felt was just history?
Shared childhood. Shared trauma. Shared safety.
Of course it would feel intense.
He had been there when she cried over her parents. When she couldn't sleep during storms. When she got her first acceptance letter draft rejected and pretended not to care.
He had been constant.
That kind of constancy can feel like love.
But constancy isn't love.
Right?
He clung to that thought.
Because if she loved him—
truly—
then he had hurt her.
And he didn't know how to fix that without breaking everything else.
The next morning, she was quieter.
Not distant.
Not cold.
Just… measured.
That was worse.
She didn't look at him the same way.
Didn't search his face for reassurance.
She acted like someone who had stepped too close to a fire and learned the heat.
And that hurt more than jealousy ever had.
He poured coffee into a mug and watched her from the corner of his eye.
She was texting.
Probably Liam.
The thought shouldn't have bothered him.
But it did.
Because now it felt like she was redirecting something.
Like he had pushed her back toward the safe choice.
And maybe that's what he wanted.
So why did it feel like loss?
At practice that afternoon, he was off.
Not unfocused.
Just heavy.
Liam jogged up beside him after drills.
"You good?" Liam asked.
Neutral.
Eli nodded automatically.
"Yeah."
Liam studied him for a second.
Then added, "Nora seems… different today."
Eli's chest tightened.
Different how?
But he didn't ask.
He shrugged instead.
"She overthinks."
The words came out sharper than intended.
Liam frowned slightly but didn't press.
Eli hated that.
Hated that Liam had access to her mood now.
Hated that he had the right to notice.
Driving home, Eli finally let the thought settle fully.
Maybe she didn't love him.
Maybe she loved the idea of him.
The safety. The predictability. The version of herself she had been when she first arrived in this house.
He had been her anchor.
Anchors feel essential.
But they're not always romantic.
Sometimes they're just… familiar.
And maybe he had mistaken proximity for possibility.
Maybe he had built something in his head that wasn't there.
That realization cut deeper than jealousy ever could.
Because if she wasn't in love—
then he was alone in it.
Completely.
And that made him feel foolish.
Exposed.
He'd spent months guarding something she might not even be holding.
That night, he stood outside her bedroom door.
Not to confess.
Not to apologize.
Just to check.
His hand hovered near the wood.
He could hear faint music playing inside.
He imagined knocking.
Asking her plainly:
When you said you felt something… was it love?
But he didn't knock.
Because if she said no—
he would lose even the fragile hope he hadn't admitted to himself.
And if she said yes—
he would have to answer differently this time.
And he wasn't sure he could.
So he stepped back.
Retreated.
Like he always did.
Lying in bed again, he stared at the dark.
Maybe it was comfort.
Maybe that's all he was to her.
A safe place. A steady presence. A history too deep to untangle.
Comfort doesn't choose you.
Love does.
And she had chosen Liam.
That had to mean something.
Even if it hurt.
Especially because it hurt.