I can't stop thinking about Lucas's words in the car.
None of them are good enough.
He said it with such quiet certainty, such unshakeable conviction. The barista wasn't good enough. Adrian wasn't good enough. None of them were good enough for me.
I replay it over and over in my mind. The way his voice strained on the words. The way his hands tightened on the steering wheel. The way his ears burned the brightest red I've ever seen.
He's been waiting for six years. Watching other people approach me. Watching them charm me and flatter me. Watching me consider them as possibilities while he stood in the corner—invisible and patient and completely convinced that he wasn't worthy of wanting me for himself.
But he did want me. He's always wanted me. And he finally said it out loud.
