Page 128 of Too Far

All eyes fly to Kendrick.

“Cards on the table. Full stop. What do you want?”

The silence that ensues is suffocating.

“Kendrick,” I whisper in warning, pushing back in my chair to go to him. To assuage his anger. To make him see reason.

I didn’t ask Decker to join us to force him into a confrontation. I don’t want him to think—

“No.” Kendrick raises a hand. “He needs to man up.”

Fuck, I love him. Leave it to Kendrick to imply that processing emotions and talking about feelings is the definition of manning up. “He needs to step up and own this. What do you want, Cap?”

Around the table, we’re all holding our breath.

K is sharp and emotionally intelligent in a way that’s uncanny for a twenty-one-year-old student athlete. Maybe it’s because he lost his mom so young and was raised by a single father. Maybe it’s his role as caregiver to two young girls. Or maybe it’s the lupus and the acute understanding that goes along with chronic illness.

Life is short.

Say the words.

Embrace the grief.

Lean into the good.

Lean on others through the bad.

Though my stomach is in knots, I watch him and wait.

K is smart. He’ssosmart. He wouldn’t put Decker on the spot like this if he didn’t know, if he wasn’t sure—

“I swear to God, Cap. I don’t want to hit you, but I’m not above beating your ass to force this conversation.What. Do. You. Want?” he grits out through clenched teeth.

Decker shoves up from his seat and storms away from the table.

I close my eyes. The sight of him turning away only pulverizes the shards of my heart into smaller, sharper pieces. How much longer, how many more rejections can it take, until all that’s left of it is dust?

But before he reaches the doorway, he pivots.

With a murderous look on his face, brows low and jaw locked tight, he storms back to the table.

He grips the top of his chair with such force it falls to the floor when he pushes it out of the way.

Stepping up, he glares at Kendrick. Looks at Locke. Eyes Kylian. Then finally, settles his gaze on me.

“Her.”

It’s a whisper. A despondent murmur. A pained and hopeless plea.

“I want her. I want you all.” He scans the boys. “I want this life. Together.”

The confession hangs in the air before it thuds onto the table like an iron cloud.

I refuse to hope. I refuse to go down this path again.

We’ve been here. We’ve done this. I can’t keep enduring this cycle. The one where Decker admits his feelings, then refuses to act on them before finally pushing me away.

“Please don’t,” I whisper, hollow, broken. Each time we battle it out, I lose another piece of myself.