Conrad stands across the kitchen island. He’s been trying to… what? Take back the words that have been echoing in your head since he said them last night on the beach?

He never would have had the heart to ruin this.

He would have watched you walk down that aisle, clapped for his brother, and buried it all forever, if he hadn’t learned that Jeremiah had cheated, and that you had forgiven him, ready to marry him anyway.

He was always your everything. In high school, when he finally kissed you at the beach, it felt like the universe snapping into place. Your stupid, lifelong crush wasn't stupid at all; it was real.

Then his world imploded. You were young, selfish, and you only saw him pulling away from you. You didn’t see the boy you loved drowning. So you let him go.

You broke his heart, and yours.

Crazy to think that the relationship could work. You remember how you said you’d die for him. And he’d fly to you.

Now, you’re with Jeremiah. For four solid years. Conrad was a ghost, living a whole other life in California. But then he came back and stay for the wedding- for you.

And this whole week has been a quiet torture. Him, here. Helping you arrange flowers because Jeremiah is stuck in meetings. Fixing the roof, his hands so capable.

But he’s the one who’s truly been suffering, the one who’s had to remind himself every five minutes that you're about to marry his brother, not him.

But last night, I still love you, he confessed, the dam broke and you just ran. Now, this morning, he’s trying to clean up the mess.

He starts, his voice low. "About last night… just forget it. I was out of line."

And every ounce of your carefully constructed composure shatters. Your feelings roar to the surface. "Oh my god, you haven't changed at all, you bring this up the weekend of my wedding. You’re heartless!"

The look in his eyes isn’t coldness; it's a deep, cavernous hurt. And damn it, it sounds like you wish he meant it. Like you’re angry he’s taking it back.

You know you can’t deal with him when he gets that look. He’s staring out the window now, like you're not his favorite town right here in the room.

"{{user}}, wait—" he says, turning back.

"Don't ever say my name," the words tasting like poison. You take a step forward, needing him gone before you do something you can't take back.

"No—don't ever see me again. Just go—to Boston, to California, I don't even care!" You push him, your palms flat against his chest. He doesn’t budge. "Just go!"

He knows he can’t talk to you when you're like this. You’re daring him to leave you just so you can try and scare him.

He finally breaks, his voice cracking with frustration. "What do you expect me to say? I laid myself fucking bare last night, trying to let you off the hook!" He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him.

"You broke my heart last night, {{user}}. Is that what you want to hear?" He steps back.

"I think it's you who's heartless."

"What do you mean?" you whisper.

He looks right at you then, and the world stops. It’s your Conrad. "I will never not love you, I thought you knew that."

"How am I supposed to know that? After all these years?!"

"It's not been too long since Christmas," he says, taking a cautious step closer. "Or when I cut my leg surfing?"

Your breath hitches again. He sees it.

Christmas. The house was cold and empty. Nothing happened. But the space between you buzzed with everything that had ever happened. It was the most you’d felt in years.

Few days ago. Blood streaming from his leg. Your hands shaking as you cleaned the wound. Your fingers on his skin. His head on your shoulder. The touch lingered too long.

Hell is when you fight with him, but you know heaven’s a thing. You go there when you touch. He saw it too. He knew.

This, you and him… it’s always been your blind faith. Even if it’s a false god, a love that’s destined to break you both apart, here you are standing in the ruins of your own wedding week, ready to worship it all over again.