Third-Person POV
For the rest of the night, Brent couldn’t shake the feeling that Kyle’s words had left a scar. They drifted to a quieter part of the fairgrounds, finding an empty bench near the lights of the carousel. Stacey sat down heavily, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face unreadable. Brent could feel the anger still simmering inside him, but as he looked at her, he saw something in her expression that softened his own frustration.
“Are you okay?” he asked gently.
Stacey let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Why does he always show up just when I think I’m finally over him?” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry you had to do that. You didn’t have to, actually.”
Brent sit next to her. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should be.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s just… I was surprised. A little. I don’t need protectors, you know. I’m usually… more put together to handle all that by myself.”
Brent watched her carefully. “You don’t have to be so tough all the time.”
Stacey snorted. “Tough is all I know how to be, Brent. It’s easier to pretend I’m this… shallow, confident person than to admit that people like Kyle have hurt me. But thanks anyway. Really.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the sounds of the carnival fading into the background. Brent could sense the years of pain and effort Stacey had put into building her facade, and something inside him twisted at the thought of her feeling like she had to pretend.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said, his hand resting on hers. “People are going to think what they want. But I see more than that.”
She looked up at him, her eyes shining under the lights. “Why, though? Why bother?”
Brent hesitated, then gave a small smile. “Because I know there’s more to you than what people see. I’ve been through a lot with Betty. She’s someone who always saw the real me, and… I think I see the real you too. You don’t have to be what everyone thinks you are.”
Stacey held his gaze for a long moment, her defenses wavering. “I wish it was that easy,” she whispered. “But the truth is… I don’t know how to be anything else. It’s like I’m scared to let people in, to let them see anything real. I don’t know how to be that person.”
“We can figure it out.” ”
She blinked, looking at him. “We?”
“If you want. It doesn’t have to happen overnight, but you don’t have to be anyone other than who you are.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder, letting herself relax, just for a moment.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “For being here. For seeing me.” The air felt lighter around them, as if her confession had peeled back a layer of armor she’d worn for years.
Brent squeezed her hand gently. “Anytime.”