PARKER
But she just squeezes my hand again and says, “You want to talk about it?”
My throat tightens. “Not really.”
“Okay.”
She waits. That’s what she does. She doesn’t prod or scold or guilt-trip. She just gives me space until I either fill it or start crying inside of it.
I exhale slowly. “It isn’t like last time.”
She nods.
“I mean, I wasn’t…alone. And I wasn’t being careless. I was on the pill. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She stays quiet.
I keep going. “I didn’t plan on any of it. Not the job. Not the gala. Not…them.”
Her brows lift slightly. “Them?”
I nod, blinking back tears. “It’s not just one guy this time.”
“I know.” She says it without judgment. Not even surprise. Just that soft sadness I hate—because it means she’s hurting for me.
I try to explain. “It wasn’t a g
