The Wrong Kind of Right

chapter 12

My sister found me in the boathouse two nights later, sitting in the dark like an i***t, not even pretending to work on anything.

"You're an i***t," Maya said, which felt redundant given my own assessment, but I let her say it anyway.

"Thanks for stopping by."

"I'm serious, Ethan. Whatever you did — and don't insult me by pretending you didn't do something — you need to fix it."

"It's not that simple."

"It's exactly that simple. You like her. Anyone with eyes can see it. And instead of just saying that, you're doing the thing you always do — building a wall and hoping she doesn't notice you're hiding behind it."

"I got left at the altar, Maya. Forgive me for being cautious."

"You didn't get left because you loved someone too much. You got left because Claire realized halfway down the aisle that she didn't actually want the life you two had built — and that's about her, not some verdict on whether you're capable of being loved. But you've turned it into evidence. Like it proves something about you instead of something about her."

I didn't have a response to that. Partly because she wasn't wrong, and partly because I hadn't let myself think about it in those terms before — hadn't separated Claire left from I am the kind of person people leave.

"Aria's not Claire," Maya said, quieter now. "She hasn't done anything except show up, be honest, and let you see her mess right along with yours. That's not nothing, Ethan. That's actually the opposite of what happened to you before."

"So what, I just — what, pretend the fear isn't real?"

"No. You feel the fear and you tell her the truth anyway. That's the whole thing. That's what being brave with someone actually looks like — not the absence of being scared, just not letting the fear make the decision for you."

She left me alone after that, and I sat there a long time, turning it over, feeling something shift loose in my chest that had been locked tight since a church hallway eight months ago.

I thought about the boathouse. The almost-kiss. The flinch.

I thought about Aria's face the next morning, careful and closed off in a way I'd caused.

For the first time since Claire, I let myself consider the possibility that the real risk wasn't getting hurt again.

The real risk was staying this guarded and losing something worth having because I was too scared to reach for it.

I didn't have a plan yet. But I knew, sitting there in the dark, that something had to change — and it had to start with me finally telling her the truth, all of it, without flinching this time.