Violet’s POV
Tommy and Paige invite everyone to the county fair the morning after the wedding, and I watch Adison sink deeper into the couch like someone who just spent their last reserves getting through yesterday.
"I'm exhausted." She touches her belly with that protective gesture I've learned means she's prioritizing the baby over everything else. "Rain check?"
"I'm not leaving you." Jake settles beside her with the protective intensity of someone who just promised forever in front of witnesses. "You two go. Have fun."
So it's just the four of us piling into Tommy's truck as evening light turns everything gold and temporary. I slide into the back beside Zachary, and the casual intimacy of his hand finding mine feels both natural and terrifying in equal measure.
This is what normal couples do. Go to fairs. Eat terrible food. Pretend the future isn't a countdown to separation.
"You excited?" Paige turns around from the front seat, grinning. "Best fair in the county."
"I've never been to a county fair." The admission sounds more vulnerable than I intended.
"Then you're in for a treat." Tommy catches my eye in the rearview mirror. "Deep-fried everything. Questionable rides. The full Texas experience."
Zachary squeezes my hand once, and I realize he's watching me with that careful attention I've come to recognize as him cataloging every reaction for future reference.
Like he's memorizing me while he still can.
The fairgrounds smell like fried dough and livestock and nostalgia for a childhood I never actually had. Neon lights strung between food trucks, carnival music competing with screaming children, crowds of people who belong here in ways I never will.
"Come on." Paige grabs my hand, pulling me toward the games. "Tommy's going to show off now."
We stop at the shooting gallery, and Tommy studies the rifles with the casual competence of someone who grew up with them. Three shots later he's handing Paige an enormous stuffed bear, and her joy is so uncomplicated it makes my chest ache.
"You're ridiculous." She laughs, kissing him quick. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Love it." He wraps an arm around her waist. "Name it. Introduce it to your parents as our first child."
Their ease with each other feels like witnessing a language I never learned to speak. No age gaps to navigate. No corporate positions to protect. No expensive education waiting to create distance.
Just want and choice and the kind of simplicity that makes my relationship with Zachary feel impossibly complicated by comparison.
"Want me to win you something?" Zachary's voice is low beside me.
"I want funnel cake." I deflect before he can see how much watching Tommy and Paige hurts. "And maybe that ride over there."
We eat fried food that tastes like nostalgia and regret, and somewhere between the mechanical bull competition and the Ferris wheel, Zachary stops walking.
"What are we actually doing here?" His voice carries weight that has nothing to do with the fair.
My stomach drops. "Eating terrible food? Questioning our life choices?"
"Violet." He doesn't smile. "You know what I mean."
I force myself to meet his eyes, and the careful hope in his expression makes what I'm about to say feel like murder.
"When I leave for university." The words taste rehearsed because they are. "We should keep in touch. But be free. No expectations. No promises that geography will inevitably break."
The statement lands between us like negotiation terms for our own destruction.
"Free." He repeats the word like he's testing its weight. "You want us to be free."
"I think it's the only way this doesn't end with one of us resenting the other." My voice stays steady even though my hands are shaking. "You'll be in Manhattan managing the company with Adison. I'll be on campus figuring out who I am. Distance will—"
"Distance will make it impossible." He finishes for me, and there's something wounded in his voice. "So we're just deciding it's impossible now instead of trying."
"We're being realistic." The defense sounds hollow even to my own ears. "We're protecting ourselves from inevitable failure."
"Right." His jaw tightens. "Protection. That makes sense."
"Zachary—"
"No, you're right." He cuts me off with careful neutrality I recognize as armor. "This is smart. Logical. The responsible way to handle an impossible situation."
The agreement feels exactly like loss wearing a different name.
"The Ferris wheel." I gesture toward it like changing locations will somehow fix what I just broke. "Let's ride the Ferris wheel."
We wait in line surrounded by families and couples who aren't actively destroying their own happiness through preemptive capitulation. Zachary's hand stays in mine, but the contact feels different now. Less like connection and more like goodbye wearing intimacy's clothes.
The wheel lifts us slowly, and with each rotation we rise higher above the fairgrounds. Neon lights become distant stars. Music fades to white noise. The whole sprawl of Texas spreads beneath us in gold and shadow and impossible beauty.
At the top, where the wheel stops for just a moment, I can see everything.
The ranch in the distance. The town Tommy grew up in. The life I'm about to walk away from because I'm too scared to risk wanting it.
"I love you." Zachary says it quietly, like a confession. "That doesn't change just because you're leaving."
The words detonate in my chest.
"I know." My voice cracks. "I love you too."
"Then why are we doing this?" He turns to face me fully, and there's something desperate in his expression. "Why are we negotiating our way out of the first real thing either of us has had?"
Because I'm terrified. Because loving you this much while watching geography pull us apart will destroy me. Because freedom feels safer than the inevitable moment when distance makes you realize I'm not worth the effort.
"Because it's the right thing to do." The lie tastes like self-preservation and cowardice in equal measure.
The wheel starts moving again, carrying us back down to earth where complicated decisions wait to be executed. Where promises made at the top don't survive the descent.
I just negotiated my way out of the first real thing I've ever had.
And the freedom I demanded feels exactly like loss wearing a different name.