I tried to turn away, to hide it, but Tristan was already there.
"Olivia," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He stepped closer, his hand gently tilting my chin up until our eyes met.
And the way he looked at me—like I wasn't a failure, like I wasn't a disappointment—shattered me.
I let out a shaky breath, and the tears fell.
He didn't hesitate.
His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest. His scent—dark, woodsy, with that faint undercurrent of something wild—washed over me, and I clung to the front of his shirt, hating myself for how safe it felt.
His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.
"You're okay," he whispered.
I wasn't sure if he was talking about me or Boyd or both, but I nodded anyway, a sob catching in my throat.
And then, softly—too softly for my parents to hear—he kissed my forehead.
Oh.
Oh no.
My heart lurched violently in my chest.
