The silence between us felt like a living thing, growing thicker and heavier with every mile that passed under the tires. The rain pounded against the windshield, drowning out everything but the sound of our unspoken thoughts. Colt's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that I could see the tension in his forearms, the veins standing out against his tanned skin. His jaw was clenched, lips pressed into a thin, hard line that hadn't softened since we left the bonfire.

I kept my gaze fixed on the window, watching the raindrops race down the glass, each one carving its own uncertain path through the darkness. It was almost hypnotic, the way they merged and split, their journeys so much like the chaotic swirl of thoughts in my mind. Every drop seemed to carry the weight of what I wanted to say, what I couldn't bring myself to voice. The questions, the doubts, the hurt—all of it mingled with the rain in a silent downpour that Colt couldn't hear.

It felt as though the world had shrunk to the confines of this truck, like we were trapped in a bubble where time moved differently—slower, more deliberate, each second stretching out in unbearable silence. The distance between us, only a few inches in the cramped cab, felt like miles. I could sense the storm inside him, the way it mirrored my own, but neither of us seemed willing or able to breach the gap.

The images from the bonfire replayed in my mind in an endless loop—Rhett's possessive grip, Colt's stormy expression, the firelight flickering between shadows of doubt and anger. The words I wanted to say were caught somewhere deep inside, tangled up with the fear that saying them would make everything worse, would push us past a point of no return.

When we finally pulled into the driveway, the rain had eased to a soft drizzle, the world outside muted and gray, as though even the night itself was exhausted from the turmoil. Colt cut the engine, and the sudden silence was jarring, amplifying the tension that hung heavy between us. We just sat there, the faint tap of raindrops on the roof the only sound in the thick, oppressive quiet.

Neither of us moved, neither of us spoke. It was as if we were waiting for something—for the other to speak first. I could feel the unsaid words pressing against my throat, a painful lump that made it hard to swallow, hard to think. My hand hovered near the door handle, but I couldn't bring myself to open it, to shatter this fragile, unbearable moment.

Finally, Colt let out a long breath, the sound breaking through the stillness like a fragile thread snapping under too much pressure. He turned to look at me, his eyes searching mine, but I couldn't read the expression on his face. Was it regret? Frustration? Something else entirely? I didn't know, and that uncertainty gnawed at me, making the ache in my chest even worse.

"Lemon," he began, his voice rough, like he was forcing the words out. "We need to talk about what happened tonight."

He was right, of course—we did need to talk. But the way he said it, like he was the one who had been wronged, like he was the one who had a right to be upset, made something inside me snap.

I stiffened at his words, the knot in my chest tightening.

"Do we, Colt?" I snapped back, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Because I'm not sure there's anything left to say."

He blinked, caught off guard by my tone, and for a moment, I almost regretted it. But then his own frustration flared, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers curled into fists in his lap.

"You can't be serious, Lemon," he said, his eyes narrowing as he leaned closer, his voice low. "You're really going to sit there and pretend like none of this matters?"

The anger in his voice only fueled mine. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We weren't even together, not really, so why did it feel like I was betraying him just by being with Rhett? And why did it hurt so damn much to see him with someone else?

"It doesn't matter!" I snapped, though the words tasted like a lie on my tongue. "We're not together, Colt! We haven't even—" I stopped myself, but it was too late. The words hung in the air, unfinished but heavy with meaning.

His expression hardened, his eyes darkening as he caught the edge of what I wasn't saying. "Haven't even what, Lemon?" he pressed, his tone challenging me to finish the thought. When I didn't answer, he shook his head, the frustration in his eyes turning into something else—something that hurt to see. "You think this doesn't matter because we haven't kissed? Because we haven't put a label on whatever this is?"

His words hit me like a slap, and I flinched, more from the truth in them than the force behind them. "Don't twist this around, Colt," I warned, my voice trembling with the effort to keep my emotions in check. "I'm not the one who—"

He watched me, his eyes narrowing, waiting for me to finish, and when I didn't, he let out a bitter laugh. "You're not the one who what, Lemon? Went off into the woods with some girl? Kissed someone you barely know?" His voice was rising now, each word cutting through the air like a knife. "Because last I checked, that's exactly what you did with Rhett."

I felt my face flush, anger mixing with the shame that was creeping up my spine. He wasn't wrong, but it wasn't that simple, and it wasn't fair for him to throw it back in my face like that.

"That's not the same, and you know it," I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. "You think I wanted that? You think I wasn't trying to forget what I saw? You with that girl, laughing, letting her get close to you like it was nothing? Do you know how that felt?"

Colt's jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment, his fists tightening and loosening at his sides as if he was trying to find some semblance of control. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less intense. "She followed me, Lemon. I didn't ask for it. Hell, I didn't even want it. But you... you went to Rhett. You let him kiss you."

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and painful, and I could feel the tears burning at the back of my eyes. He was right, of course. I had let Rhett get close, too close, and I had kissed him back. But it was more complicated than that, and it wasn't fair for Colt to reduce it to something so simple, so black and white. I didn't want to cry, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words had cut me, but it was too late. The emotion was too raw, too close to the surface.

"I was hurt, Colt," I admitted, my voice breaking as I finally let the tears spill over. "I saw you with her, and it felt like everything we'd been building, everything I thought we had, just... vanished. And then Rhett was there."

Colt's eyes snapped back to mine, a flash of pain and something else—something that looked a lot like guilt—crossing his face. "You think I don't care about you, Lemon?" he asked, his voice rough, almost desperate. "You think I'd be this pissed if I didn't care?"

The intensity of his words took me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. I had been so caught up in my own hurt, my own anger, that I hadn't stopped to consider what this might have been like for him. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

"You have a funny way of showing it," I muttered, wiping angrily at the tears on my cheeks. "One minute, you're all closed off, and the next, you're acting like I'm the only one who's done something wrong."

Colt took a step closer, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach out, but wasn't sure if he should. "Maybe I have been closed off," he admitted, his voice low. "Maybe I haven't known how to do this, how to let you in without screwing it up. But that doesn't mean I don't care, Lemon. It doesn't mean I haven't been trying."

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw honesty, made something inside me soften, even as the anger still simmered just beneath the surface. "Then why didn't you tell me?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Why didn't you say anything when it mattered, instead of letting me think I was the only one feeling this way?"

Colt's shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out a long breath, as if the weight of everything that had happened tonight was finally settling on him. "Because I was scared," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Scared of messing this up, of losing you before we even had a chance to figure out what this is. And then tonight, seeing you with Rhett... it felt like everything I was afraid of was happening right in front of me."

I stared at him, my heart aching with the weight of his words. This was the Colt I had always sensed beneath the tough exterior, the one who cared deeply but didn't always know how to show it.

But the anger was still there, burning alongside the hurt and confusion. "You were scared?" I repeated, my voice thick with frustration. "So was I, Colt. I didn't know what to do with how I felt, either. But instead of talking to me, you went and—" My voice broke, the memory of him with that girl still too fresh, too painful.

He flinched as if I'd struck him, his eyes closing for a moment as he took a deep breath. "I know," he said quietly, regret lacing his words. "And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it happen. I shouldn't have kissed her. And when I saw you with Rhett... I lost it, Lemon. I didn't think, I just... I reacted."

His honesty disarmed me, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to hold onto the anger that had been fueling me. But the hurt was still there and I wasn't sure how to make sense of it all.

"I never wanted any of this," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I didn't want to hurt you, and I didn't want to be hurt, either."

He moved closer, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Lemon, I don't want to lose you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I know I've messed up, but I want to make this right. I want to figure this out, with you."

"How?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. "How do we fix this when it feels like everything's broken?"

He reached out then, his hand gentle as it cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "We start by being honest," he said softly. "No more hiding how we feel, no more running away when things get tough. We face this together, one step at a time."

The warmth of his touch made something inside me crack and I found myself leaning into his touch.

"But what if we can't?" I whispered, the fear still clinging to me. "What if we just end up hurting each other again?"

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. "Then at least we tried. At least we didn't give up without a fight."

I searched his face, looking for any sign that he might not mean it, that this might just be another mistake we were making. But all I saw was the same uncertainty, the same fear and hope that I felt. He was scared, just like me, but he was willing to try, and that was more than I could have asked for.

Before I could second-guess myself, I closed the space between us, my lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow, almost fragile. The moment our lips met, everything else seemed to fade away—the anger, the confusion, the hurt—replaced by something deeper, something that had been lying dormant between us, waiting for this moment to come alive.