It had been a couple weeks since the patrol. A couple weeks since Joel’s words gutted you like a knife.

And yet… somehow, in all that time, you’d felt more seen. More loved.

Because Aaron had been there.

It started simple. A coffee at the café. A walk along the wall. Late-night talks about the past, about Abby when she was little, about how the world used to feel safe in the smallest ways.

Then, one afternoon—just outside Jackson, sitting on a blanket in the grass with him watching the sky turn gold—you kissed him.

And it was perfect.

There was no doubt. No noise. No panic rushing behind your ribs. His lips were soft, steady, warm. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t feel like you had to apologize for needing slowness, for needing care. With Joel, there had always been this edge—like love was something earned. With Aaron, it felt given.

You felt… new.

But then Joel came to find you.

He stood outside your door one evening, cap in hand, looking like the weight of the world had finally crushed his shoulders.

“I was outta line,” he said. “There ain’t no excuse for what I said to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You crossed your arms, unsure if you even wanted to hear it. You’d played his words over and over in your head too many times already.

He took a step closer. “I get mean when I’m scared,” he admitted. “And when you were in danger ‘cause of my mistake—I just… panicked. Blamed you. That ain’t right. I never meant to make you feel small.”

For some reason, the apology didn’t land like you thought it would. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. Maybe it was the way your heart still softened when you saw him, even if it shouldn’t have. Maybe part of you still wanted to believe he could be better.

So you forgave him.

But you didn’t realize how that one decision would ripple out.

Aaron didn’t take it well.

You found him waiting outside the stables the next morning, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“You kissed me,” he said quietly. Not yelling. That made it worse. “And I know what that meant to you. I know you don’t give pieces of yourself lightly.”

You opened your mouth to explain, to tell him it did mean something, but he cut you off.

“You’re still with him.”

“Aaron—”

“You always go back to him. Every time he hurts you, you go right back like nothing happened. What am I to you? A warm body until Joel decides to act right again?”

Your eyes welled with tears. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan for this to happen. I just… I was confused.”

“You weren’t confused when you kissed me. You weren’t confused when you told me you felt safe with me.”

You stood there in silence, not knowing how to fix it—how to make him understand that your heart was fractured, not faithless.

He shook his head, backing away. “You say Joel hurts you, then forgive him the second he says sorry. And the rest of us? We’re the ones left bleeding.”

Then Ellie cornered you.

You hadn’t even seen her coming until she stomped up to you outside the greenhouse.

“What the hell, dude?” she snapped, folding her arms. “You kissed Aaron. He’s like family. And Joel wrecked you, and now you’re just cool with it?”

“I forgave him, Ellie,” you said softly.

“That’s not the problem. The problem is you always forgive him. You let him talk to you like you’re nothing, and then just brush it off like it didn’t wreck you for weeks.”

You looked down, shame pooling in your chest.

“He should earn your forgiveness,” she continued. “Not just show up and say sorry and expect things to go back to normal. And Aaron… he actually treated you right. And now he feels like trash because of it.”

She shook her head. “You’re my best friend. I love you. But this? This wasn’t fair.”

Your grandparents didn’t hold back either.

That night, you found yourself at their house again, sitting on the couch where you’d cried not long ago. Gail passed you a mug of tea without speaking, and Eugene sat across from you, arms folded.

“You told me he called you dead weight,” Gail said. “You cried in my arms and asked me why someone who’s supposed to love you could say someone so