I stood there, the silence pressing down on me like a second skin.
But I couldn't let it end like that.
Not after the way he spoke to his father this morning. Not after today. Not after yesterday.
I followed him up the stairs, each step fueled by a mix of confusion, anger, and something I didn't want to name. His door was already halfway closed when I reached it.
"Shawn."
He stopped. Didn't turn.
"You embarrassed your father this morning," I said sharply, stepping into his room before he could shut me out. "You couldn't even pretend to care. You could've just gotten dressed. You didn't even have to like it. But you chose to humiliate him in front of us."
He turned to face me slowly, his eyes burning now—not with rage, but with something that looked a lot like shame dressed up as fury.
"He ambushed me," he muttered. "Tried to shove me into something that's not me. That's never been me."
"Yeah?" I shot back, arms crossed. "And since when do you care so much about appearances? Because you sure looked cozy enough out with Juliet all day."
He laughed. A low, humorless sound.
"There it is."
"There what?"
"The jealousy," he said, stepping closer.
I blinked. "I'm not jealous."
"No?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Because you sure sound like someone who is."
I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
Damn him.
"This isn't about her," I snapped. "This is about you choosing to lash out at the one person who's done nothing but try to help you."
"Don't act like you know what I'm dealing with."
"I'm not acting," I said, stepping forward. "I do know. Because I'm living in this house too. I've seen the way he tries with you. And maybe you're too bitter or too stubborn to see it, but that man cares. He didn't deserve what you did."
His jaw clenched.
"I didn't ask for any of this," he muttered.
"Neither did I!" I snapped, louder now. "I didn't ask to lose everything. I didn't ask to play mom to two kids while trying to keep my own world from falling apart. But here I am. Showing up. Every damn day. What's your excuse?"
We were standing close now. Too close.
His breath hitched slightly.
"I don't have one," he whispered.
The tension in the air pulsed between us. My heart thudded like a warning. I should've walked out. I should've turned and left.
But I didn't.
Neither did he.
His eyes searched mine—furious, vulnerable, unguarded.
And in that heavy, electric silence… neither of us moved.
Not yet.
He was standing just inches from me now, the space between us crackling like a live wire. I could feel the heat radiating off him, could hear the uneven rhythm of his breathing. And still—he didn't move.
Neither did I.
"You think you have me figured out," he said, voice low, almost bitter. "You don't."
"Maybe not," I said quietly. "But I see more than you think."
He swallowed hard, his jaw twitching.
"And what do you see, Anne?" he asked, voice barely audible.
"A boy who's too angry to admit he's hurting," I replied, meeting his eyes head-on. "A boy who pushes everyone away because it's easier than letting them get close. A boy who doesn't know what to do with someone who actually gives a damn."
He stepped even closer, and this time, I didn't back away.
His voice dropped, rough and raw. "And what if I told you I didn't want to feel anything?"
"Too late," I whispered.
For a long second, we just stood there, staring. Daring the other to be the first to break. The tension between us had reached a boiling point. It wasn't just words anymore. It was everything unsaid. Everything avoided. Everything neither of us had been ready to face.
His gaze flicked to my lips, and my breath caught.
But instead of leaning in, he stepped back.
Just an inch. Just enough to let the moment collapse between us.
"I can't do this," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Why?" I asked, my voice shakier than I wanted it to be.
"Because you matter," he said quietly. "And if I screw this up—if I screw *you* up—I don't know if I'd forgive myself."
I didn't know what to say to that. I wasn't even sure I understood all of it. But I knew one thing—I couldn't hate him for walking away. Not when I was just as scared of what this might become.
He turned his back to me, exhaling sharply, like he was trying to regain control.
I stood there for a moment longer, heart still racing. Then I turned and walked out, closing the door behind me with a soft click.
We hadn't kissed. We hadn't touched.
But somehow, it felt more intense than if we had.