Page 48 of Stuffed

My phone buzzes again—Ivy this time.

"I'm fine," I answer before she can ask.

"Clearly." Her voice is gentle. "Want me to come over?"

"No." I wipe at my cheeks. "I just… I thought we were past this. Past his trust issues and walls and constant need to push people away."

"Old habits die hard, sweetie."

"But that's just it—they shouldn't have to die at all. He should trust that some feelings are real. That not everyone has an agenda."

The car pulls up to my building, and I thank the driver before climbing out into the cold night air. Snow is starting to fall again, delicate flakes catching in my hair.

"Maybe he does trust it," Ivy says thoughtfully. "Maybe that's what scares him."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. All his life, he's operated under the assumption that everyone wants something from him. That relationships are transactional. It's safer that way—no vulnerability, no risk."

I unlock my door, kicking off my heels. "So?"

"So, what happens when someone comes along who just wants him? The real him, walls and issues and all? That's terrifying for someone who's built their whole life around keeping people at arm's length. Not to mention who only knows one version of a relationship which is tit for tat."

I sink onto my couch, considering her words. "When did you get so insightful?"

"Around the same time I fell in love with his brother." She pauses. “Asher and I know what we have is real."

"I know. I just hate that he used your relationship to deflect from his own issues."

"Classic avoidance tactic." She sighs. "Men."

Despite everything, I laugh. "Indeed."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Part of me wants to stay angry. To make him work for it."

"But?"

"But I also understand why he's like this. Why it's so hard for him to trust in something good." I curl my legs under me, remembering all the little moments when his walls would crack. When he'd let me see glimpses of the man beneath the armor. "I just wish he'd let me in completely."

"Give him time," Ivy advises. "He's trying."

"Is he? Because sometimes it feels like one step forward, two steps back."

"Love isn't linear, honey. Sometimes it's messy and complicated and terrifying."

"When did it become love?" I whisper, more to myself than her.

"Please." She snorts. "It's been love since you were barely sixteen, watching him from behind your pom-poms. The only difference is now you're both grown-up enough to actually do something about it."

"If he lets himself."

"He will." She sounds certain. "Just don't give up on him yet."

After we hang up, I head to my bathroom to wash away my makeup. The woman in the mirror looks tired, uncertain. But there's something else in her eyes too—determination maybe. Or hope.

My phone buzzes with Zane's apology text, and I find myself smiling despite everything. Because maybe Ivy's right. Maybe love isn't supposed to be easy or straightforward. Maybe it's supposed to be challenging and messy and worth fighting for.

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