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Annie Sullivan wasn’t a stranger to disappointment. In fact, she wore it like a badge of honor, proof that life could knock her down, but never out. She handled it in sixth grade when she lost the county spelling bee and missed out on a free trip to Disney. She took it in stride when she didn’t make the varsity soccer team her freshman year, even though she had spent the entire summer training for tryouts. And when her parents sat her down to gently explain that, despite all her hard work, affording her dream school might not be possible, she swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
But when the disappointment came from Ty—someone she truly loved—it didn’t feel like something to shake off. It settled deep, unfamiliar and heavy, as if this time, it actually had the power to break her.
It’s enough to make her lose sleep. In fact, she is losing sleep—evident in the faint lines settling beneath her tired eyes after a night spent crying. She doesn’t even notice the way her fingers fidget absently with the rings on her hand as she lies in bed, replaying the events of the day, trying to make sense of them.
Defer.
Ty had asked her to defer college—her dream school in California—so she could follow him and his band around Europe for a year. And for one terrifying second, before she could bring herself to say no, she had wanted to say yes. The realization had rattled her to her core. Because what kind of person even considers something like that? What kind of person lets love make them reckless, willing to throw away everything they’ve worked for just to stay by someone’s side?
A dangerous person. A vulnerable, naive, stupid person.
That’s what she was. Almost.
But not then. Not when, in the very next breath, her fleeting moment of weakness twisted into something sharper—anger, resentment, maybe even regret. The words had come out before she could stop them, cutting, unforgiving:
“You took 17 years to tell me you loved me. If we can’t last one more, maybe that’s our answer.”
She had turned and walked away before she could register the hurt in his eyes. Maybe that made her cruel, but she needed to say it. Needed to draw a line in the sand where her heart and her mind could no longer blur together.
You can have all of me, but not this. Not my dream.
Because she would never ask this of him. Not even when he left for his first tour, when she swallowed her own longing, smiled, and lied about how much she’d miss him—just so he’d have the courage to go. She had done that for him.
So why couldn’t he do the same for her?
It’s the same question she’s been asking herself over and over, looping endlessly in her mind as she lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to sleep. Two hours had passed, but rest remained just out of reach. She doesn’t even notice when the clock strikes midnight, dragging her problems into a new day.
For a moment, she almost thinks she’s winning the battle—her thoughts quieting, her eyelids growing heavy—until the sharp buzz of her phone jolts her awake. Her heart stumbles as she sits up, fingers fumbling for the device. A text.
From Ty.
The realization should reignite her anger, but it doesn’t. Instead, a wave of anxiety crashes over her, spreading through her limbs, tightening in her chest.
This was their first real fight as a couple, and so far, they were handling it terribly.
Or maybe Annie could only speak for herself.
At the Christmas party, Ty had tried to pull her aside—to talk, to fix things—but she hadn’t been ready for another round of disappointment. So she’d avoided him, grasping for any excuse she could find.
“Sorry, Mom needs help bringing the cakes in.”
“I don’t really think this is the time or place for this, Ty.”
She had spent the rest of the night dodging him, pretending not to notice the way his gaze followed her across the room. And when her dad had asked if she needed a ride home, she had agreed without hesitation, despite the fact that she and Ty had already made plans to see a movie at the local theatre that evening.
Now, as she stares at the glowing screen in her hands, she reads his message carefully.
Not long. Not drawn out. Just five simple words.
Any chance you’re awake right now?
Annie bites her lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard as she racks her brain for a response. Yes? No? Leave him on read?
She considers the last option, but curiosity gnaws at her, restless energy buzzing beneath her skin. She can’t just ignore him. So she starts typing, carefully formulating her words—only for her screen to light up with another message before she can hit send.
You’re typing, so I’m going to take that as a yes :)
She nearly scoffs. Seriously? They’re in the middle of a fight, and yet he still has time to weave his usual charm into the conversation. Typical.
With a huff, she erases the near-paragraph she had typed and dials back her response.
I was just about to go to bed, actually.
The period at the end is intentional—pointed, deliberate. If Ty hasn’t already realized she’s still mad, he should now.
But if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. His response comes just as confident, just as maddening.
Can we talk? It’ll be quick, I just can’t let myself go to sleep without speaking to you about what happened today.
What happened today.
Annie wonders what he thinks happened, because from where she was standing, he took her heart, held it in his hands, and then let it shatter into a thousand pieces.
I don’t think this should be a phone conversation, Ty.
His reply is instant.
Good thing it won’t be over the phone. I’m already at your house.
Annie inhales sharply, confusion flashing across her face. What?
Before she has time to process his words, the faint clink of a pebble against her window makes her freeze. Another follows, then another.
Her pulse kicks up as she throws off her covers and pads toward the window. And sure enough, standing in the glow of the streetlamp below, looking as stubborn and determined as ever, is Ty.
Her boyfriend.
The boy who just broke her heart.
And the only person in the world who still makes it race like this.
Annie slides open the window, her voice low enough to avoid waking her parents but just loud enough for him to hear. “Ty, what are you doing here?”
But, of course, he doesn’t answer. He’s too busy climbing.
It’s almost effortless for him, like muscle memory—because he’s done this before. Countless times. When they were kids, sneaking out for late-night adventures, or later, when they were just friends but neither of them could quite stay away. He knows exactly how to time his jump, how to grip the ledge, how to pull himself up onto the roof of the front porch before crossing it to reach her window.
“Hey,” Ty breathes when he finally makes it, drinking her in like she’s the first breath of fresh air after too long underwater.
And Annie wonders—for a fleeting, ridiculous moment—if he’s winded from the climb or from looking at her.
Suddenly, she feels seen in a way she’s not prepared for. Not that she should be self-conscious—it’s just Ty—but the way his eyes trace over her face, soft and searching, makes her want to burrow under the covers. And she knows—knows just from the way his expression shifts, the flicker of guilt before he forces it away—that he can tell she’s been crying.
She crosses her arms over her chest, only then registering what she’s wearing. PJ shorts. A thin tank top. And over it, the flannel she stole from him before he left for tour.
The realization makes her stomach twist.
She’s supposed to be mad at him. Is mad at him. And yet here she is, wrapped up in his clothes, drowning in his scent like she can’t get enough. Like she can’t help herself.
It’s a bad habit—maybe even embarrassing—but ever since she won the boyfriend lottery, she’s taken to stealing his hoodies, his shirts, his flannels. Some he knew about, some he didn’t. Or pretended not to. She once told him she’d save them for special occasions , make the thievery count for the moments she really missed him.
And she misses him now.
Even though he’s right in front of her, standing in her childhood bedroom with his hair a little messy and those blue eyes burning through the dim glow of the fairy lights that scatter across her room, she misses him.
And that’s when Annie realizes—it’s possible to miss someone who hasn’t even left yet.
And if this is how it feels now, when he’s still here , she doesn’t want to imagine what it’ll be like when he’s not. When she’s in Monterey. And he’s somewhere across the world.
She’s in a world of her own thoughts, but so is Ty. She catches him scanning her room, his eyes moving slowly, deliberately, as if he’s rediscovering parts of her he hadn’t noticed before. The polaroid pinned to her corkboard of the two of them at the county fair, where his arm is locked around her shoulders and they both have the widest grins imaginable. The stack of books sprawled across her bedroom floor—some open, some with dog-eared pages, all waiting for her to finally have the time to get to them. The wall of photography that overtakes half the space behind her bed, a collection of moments captured through her lens. That wasn’t there before.
And that’s when it hits her. He hasn’t been inside her room in nearly two years.
The last time was a blur of warmth and regret—her drunk, him steady, guiding her to bed. And then the kiss. A stolen moment born from liquid courage, a mistake that had felt like the end of the world at the time but had, in reality, set everything into motion. A single domino toppling a path that led them right here—to him standing in front of her now, looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.
Her breath catches when she finally notices the flower in his hand. A single lily, petals soft and delicate, trembling just slightly between his fingers.
Annie knows what it means.
Years ago, she had told him lilies were her favorite, not just for their beauty but for what they represented—love, rebirth, new beginnings. And now, here he is, standing in her room, offering her an apology that isn’t just spoken but felt, whispered between the lines of everything unspoken. I made a mistake. Can we try again?
Ty swallows, his voice quiet but sure. “I’m sorry, Annie.” The words are heavy, weighted with everything he’s been holding in. He keeps his gaze on her, hands lightly intertwining with hers, his thumb brushing the back of her knuckles like he’s afraid she might pull away. “I was a fucking idiot for asking you to put your dreams on hold for mine.”
Annie chews on her bottom lip, doing everything she can to keep her composure, but she can already feel the tears welling up again. And Ty—of course he notices, because he’s been studying her for as long as they’ve known each other.
He takes her silence as permission to continue. His voice wavers, just slightly, before he exhales sharply, like he’s angry at himself. “I just thought—God,” he lets out a dry, almost self-deprecating laugh. “I just didn’t want to lose you. You were right, okay? It took me seventeen years to tell you how I felt, and I beat myself up for it every day. Because all the time I spent being too much of a coward to say it? That was time I lost with you. And now I have you, but it still feels like we’re running out of time, and I guess this was my way of trying to hold onto you. But in doing that, I didn’t think about what you needed.”
Annie lets his words sink in. And she feels like she’s free-falling, weightless and untethered, with nothing to grab onto.
Tears spill over before she can stop them, and Ty is there, closing the space between them, brushing them away with his thumb, his touch warm and grounding. She doesn’t know if she’s crying because she’s relieved that he finally gets it, or because it hurts knowing just how much this love—the one they fought so hard to find—was already testing them.
Because this is only the beginning.
“Hey, please don’t cry,” he whispers, concern etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Annie steps back, needing space to steady herself. “It felt like you were making decisions without me,” she manages, voice small but firm. “For me.” She swallows thickly. “It hurt, Ty. I’ve been nothing but supportive of you.”
Ty’s face falls, guilt settling in like an anchor. “I know,” he says, his voice softer now, almost like it pains him to admit. His hand leaves her face, resting on the back of his neck as he rubs it sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I never want to be the person who stands in the way of what you want.”
Annie exhales, her shoulders loosening slightly. And maybe it’s not forgiveness just yet, but it’s something close.
Then, as if sensing that he’s almost there—that he’s saying all the right things but needs one final push to fully bring them back to each other—Ty reaches into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper.
Which is when he says, “That’s why I made this.”
Annie furrows her brows. “What is it?”
“A contract,” he says, unfolding it with his signature boyish grin. “To prove to you how badly I want to make this work.”
She takes it, scanning the hurried handwriting, the ink slightly smudged from where he must have gripped the pen too tightly.
- Ty will take a week off tour to follow Annie to California, help her move in, and settle into her new life. (If he can get her parents on board, he’ll try to convince them to let him make it a road trip for the both of them. He doubts it’ll work, but hey, worth a shot.)
- Ty will text Annie every day, call her every other day, and plan weekly virtual dates over FaceTime—no matter how much the time zones suck.
Annie looks up, confused. “Why is number three blank?”
Ty smirks, tilting his head toward her. “Because that part’s up to you.”
Her stomach flips.
“I figured you could write down whatever else you need from me,” he says. “You know, in the name of not making decisions for you.” He nudges her lightly, teasing, but there’s sincerity behind his words. “Especially when it comes to setting my boyfriend duties for the year we’re apart.”
Annie used to think she was falling. But now she realizes—if she lets go, she’ll actually fly.
She smiles, linking her arms around his neck. “And after, do you want me to sign it?” she teases, voice playful but still thick with emotion.
“Well, yeah,” Ty quips, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a grin. “It’s the least you can do after I put so much work into it.”
She catches the way he absently reaches for the fabric of his flannel draped over her, twirling the edge between his fingers. So he’s noticed. He’s definitely noticed.
This feels right. Them figuring it out together. Them talking through things, not shying away from the hard conversations. Them choosing to fight for each other instead of against the inevitable.
Annie likes this plan. The one where they don’t let fear dictate what happens next. The one where love is enough.
She takes the lily and the note, placing them on her bedside table for safekeeping—ready to revisit the contract when she can give it her full attention. But for now, a signature in the form of a kiss feels like enough.
So she leans into Ty, breathing him in, and catches his lips with hers. She tries not to smile when she hears the soft groan that escapes him, like she’s caught him off guard. But he recovers quickly, deepening the kiss, fingers tightening around her waist as if trying to make up for every second they spent apart today.
The longer they kiss, the more everything shifts. It’s deeper, more urgent, more consuming. Ty cups her face, pulling her impossibly closer—so close Annie isn’t sure where she ends and he begins. Her skin burns under his touch, and she isn’t sure she’ll ever get over how unabashedly he needs her. Like if she’s not beneath his hands, he might turn to stone. Like his hands were crafted by God for the sole purpose of holding her.
And then, just as easily as she’s swept away, her mother’s voice crashes into her mind.
She remembers how Dana Sue had ambushed Ty under the guise of a simple dinner, laying out a laundry list of rules designed to “keep Annie out of trouble.” One of the biggest? Ty wasn’t allowed in her room at certain hours. Annie had wanted to disappear from sheer embarrassment, gawking at her mom, appalled that her mind even went there . But Ty? He’d just smiled politely, nodding along with a string of “Yes, ma’ams,” playing the perfect, respectable young man. Dana Sue hadn’t noticed the moment he turned to Annie, winking at her like he was dismissing every rule with a silent, Yeah, right.
And maybe, just maybe, Dana Sue wasn’t entirely wrong about how quickly they could get themselves into trouble. Because here they are, tangled up in each other, their kisses more desperate, their hands bolder. Ty’s fingers ghost over the waistband of her shorts, the heat of his touch sending a sharp pulse through Annie’s core.
Sorry, Mom.
She has half a mind to let herself spiral deeper, to let him keep kissing her, pushing past boundaries neither of them have ever truly defined. But then, reality cuts through the haze. They haven’t talked about this—not sex, not hooking up, not whatever it is their bodies seem to want right now. It’s a conversation she doesn’t even know how to begin. And maybe Ty doesn’t either, because every time they get close—when innocent touches become neck kisses and hands start to wander—he pulls back, slows the pace. Like he’s keeping them from tethering themselves to something they haven’t put into words yet.
It makes sense. They were best friends before they were this. There’s no script, no unspoken understanding of how they’re supposed to navigate these new parts of each other. It’s a whole new world—being intimate with your best friend.
Annie’s fingers weave into his hair, curling at the nape of his neck. She feels his breath grow shallower against her skin. Her hands drift to the hem of his shirt, gripping tightly as she walks them backward, until her legs hit the frame of her bed and they tumble onto the mattress in a tangled heap.
She knows they won’t be crossing any major lines tonight. It’s been too emotional of a day, too raw. But that doesn’t mean they can’t feel this, enjoy this—let themselves explore each other until one of them finally gives in and pulls away.
Ty’s weight over her is grounding. Comfortable. She finds herself wrapping her legs around his waist, a boldness she hadn’t expected from herself. Ty stills for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at her, his face flushed, pupils blown wide with something unreadable but felt all the same.
“I love you,” she breathes, her thumb grazing his lower lip, as if offering an unspoken explanation for her newfound urgency.
Ty exhales softly, a slow smile creeping onto his lips before he murmurs, “I love you,” back. And then his lips find the hollow of her neck, pressing a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along her skin.
Annie already knows she’s going to regret this in the morning when she finds the mark he’s leaving behind. She’ll scold herself for making it harder to hide, but right now? Right now, she tilts her head back, giving him more access, reveling in the way his mouth makes her feel. A gentle nibble on her skin earns a small, breathy moan, and the sound surprises her—so much so that she almost bursts into giggles. They’re both so new at this, fumbling their way through, figuring out what they like, what works.
Ty lets out a low chuckle, shifting so his weight isn’t fully pressing down on her, balancing on his elbow beside her. He takes her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles—over the fingers that had been fidgeting with her rings all day out of nervous habit.
“You’re cute,” he murmurs, almost absently.
Annie turns toward him, her hair falling into her face, concealing the heat rushing to her cheeks. “Just cute?” she teases, tilting her head.
But Ty’s not even paying attention anymore. His gaze has dropped lower, his breath hitching slightly as he takes in the way his flannel has slipped off her shoulder, revealing the thin, sheer tank top underneath. Annie watches as his eyes flicker between her chest and her face, his expression shifting—something hungry flashing behind his darkened pupils.
And in that moment, she’s reminded that, for all of Ty’s charm and gentleness, at the end of the day—he’s still just a boy.
A boy who very clearly thinks she’s a hell of a lot more than just cute.
Ty answers by pulling her in again, his hands resting lightly on her waist. He closes the gap between them once more, kisses now even more fervent and needy than the last as he sucks on her bottom lip, waiting to see what reaction he gets out of her. Like it’s an experiment—one he’s eager to conduct, to memorize every little way she responds to him. And Annie doesn’t disappoint. A soft sigh leaves her lips, her fingers twisting deeper into the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up as if anchoring herself to him.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’s aware of how reckless this feels, how every time they kiss, they push the line just a little further. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once. But right now, she doesn’t care about where the line is—only that she’s here, with him, and that his hands are holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.
Her hands wander, sliding under the hem of his shirt, her fingertips grazing warm skin. It sends a shiver through her, a giddy thrill rising in her chest. It reminds her of that one time at the Townsend house when she was supposed to be helping Kyle with homework, only to be utterly useless because Ty had been walking around shirtless, ice pack pressed to his ribs from a fall he’d taken at practice. She’s pretty sure she hadn’t retained a single piece of information from that study session, too busy sneaking glances at him—at the way his skin glowed under the summer sun, the way his abs flexed when he laughed.
Now, she has the chance to look as much as she wants, to touch as much as she wants. But as she pushes his shirt up, something catches her eye—something new. Something dark, inky, and unfamiliar. A small, intricate design just below his ribs. Annie frowns slightly, blinking to make sure her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her.
“Ty,” she says, voice laced with curiosity as she breaks their kiss. He follows her gaze and lets out a short, exasperated laugh, already anticipating her reaction.
“Oh,” he says, rubbing a hand over the fresh ink like he’s only just remembering it’s there. “Yeah, I was going to tell you about that.”
He finishes the job she started, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift motion, and that’s when she fully sees it—a compass, delicate but defined, the skin around it still slightly red.
Annie sits up, taking it in. “You got a tattoo?”
Ty grins, dimples deepening. “On tour. We were in Nashville, walked past a tattoo shop. Olivia dared me to get one, and you know me—I can’t back down from a good dare.” He takes her hand, guiding her fingers along the lines of the compass, letting her trace its shape as if to prove it’s real.
She watches his face, the way he’s looking at her—not cocky or smug, but quietly certain. Like this is something he’s proud of.
“A compass?” she asks, her voice softer now.
“Yeah,” he says, eyes locked on hers. “True north, remember?”
Her breath catches.
Because of course, of course it would be that. The words he once said to her, the ones that made her feel like home was never a place but a person. Like no matter where life took him, no matter how far they stretched apart, everything in him would always point back to her.
Ty shrugs, but his smile betrays how much it means. “Figured it’d be a good way to have you with me wherever I go.”
And Annie has no words. None. Because how does she even begin to respond to that? To the realization that even when he was away, in the middle of his own world, she was still there, embedded into his skin.
So she doesn’t respond. Not with words. Instead, she cups his face in her hands and crashes her lips onto his, her heart pounding so hard she swears he can feel it against his chest. She’s smiling into the kiss, feeling the warmth of his bare skin against hers, thinking this boy, this stupid, wonderful boy.
They spend the next hour like that, tangled in each other—lazy kisses and whispered laughter, hands moving in slow, tentative exploration. Whenever things start to tilt too close to the edge, one of them pulls back, grounding them with soft words or teasing remarks, slipping into conversations about music and movies and the things they want out of life. It’s easy, natural, a rhythm they’re still figuring out but already feels like second nature.
The clock ticks past three a.m., and Annie knows they’re pushing it. Ty knows it too, because he shifts slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face as he murmurs, “I should probably go.” His voice is reluctant, like he doesn’t actually want to move. “Your parents—”
Annie doesn’t let him finish. She shakes her head, tightening her legs around his waist, pulling him closer until he has no choice but to stay right where he is.
“Stay until morning,” she whispers, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Please?”
Ty hesitates, just for a second. But then Annie’s eyes are closing, her arms wrapped tightly around him, and he realizes he doesn’t have the heart to say no.
So he shifts beneath the covers, pulling her closer, pressing a kiss to her hair as her breathing slows, soft and steady.
He’ll leave early, before she wakes up, before her parents ever know he was here. But for now, in this quiet, fleeting moment, she’s wrapped around him, and he’s never felt more certain about anything in his life.
Because whatever comes next, it's her—it's always her.