At my house, Morgan follows me inside like a stray puppy. "You live here?" His question is a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Yes." I throw myself into the couch, sighing. "So, what's up with the Blake thing?"

I shift uncomfortably, pulling a throw pillow into my lap. "That's just my name." Morgan doesn't sit down. Instead, he walks around the living room, examining the pristine furniture and perfectly placed decor. He hovers at the wall near the staircase, where the collage of family pictures hang. After a moment, he asks, "Where are they?"

"Who?" I ask, my feet pattering against the floor as I meet him near the wall.

"Your parents."

I stand awkwardly behind him, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Working."

"Always?"

"Pretty much," I shrug, wrapping my arms around myself. There wasn't much else of an explanation. We both step closer to the photos, inspecting each one slowly. Most are of my sisters and I growing up. Birthday parties, holidays, school events. In almost all of them, it's just the four of us. Our parents' absence is glaringly obvious.

"They're not... in any of these," Morgan trails off, almost confused. "Yeah, well, they've always stayed busy," I answer, almost annoyed. Context clues, read between the lines, whatever, but make me spell it out for you?

He turns to me, his expression softer. "You live here alone?"

"Not always. Brooks and Ash moved out, so it's just Nash and I." He studies me for a second, his brow furrowing. "Is that what you meant earlier? When you said you were stuck here?"

I scoff, defensive at his ability to see through me. "No." He doesn't buy it. "Really?" I glare at him; the fight quickly fizzles out when I notice how... sympathetic his expression is. "Fine. Maybe."

He tilts his head, watching me carefully. "Ever tell 'em how you feel?" I retreat back to the couch after his question. "There's no point. It's always been this way, why would they change now?"

He takes a seat next to me, his knee brushing against mine. "You shouldn't have to feel like that, Blake." I freeze at the sound of my name leaving his lips. He must notice, because his eyes widen. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize. Juliette, I meant."

I take the inside of my cheek between my teeth, letting Morgan continue. "You deserve better than that, you know." His words catch me off guard and I hate how much they sting. He casually relaxes into the sofa, his arm resting on the back, like he didn't just say what he did. I blink quickly- "You don't even know me."

He nods, raising his eyebrows. "I don't. But I do know that no one deserves that. I do know you're a nice girl. Feisty. But I can tell you're tryn'a hide it."

I stand up quickly, Morgan's analysis making my stomach churn. "Did I hit a nerve?" he asks as I slip into the kitchen. He follows me, refusing to let me escape that easy. "No," I say shortly, pulling the cabinet open. "You're just trying to psychoanalyze me and it's weird. I've known you for like... what, two weeks? Three? Four at most?"

I grab a glass, filling it to occupy my hands. He nods, folding his hands together as he takes a seat at the island. "Fair," he admits, turning his lips downward. "But I'm just calling what I see. And all I see is a lonely girl who's deflecting." I turn sharply, water sloshing over the side of the glass and onto the floor. "And is that really what you think you see, Morgan?"

He nods once, refusing to back down. "And what do you want me to do? Admit that it sucks? That it's lonely, that I'm lonely and I hate it?" My voice betrays me by cracking on the last word. I hate myself for letting it slip, but Morgan read me like a book and I can't hide it from him any longer.

He softens, leaning on his forearms. "How do your sisters feel about it?"

I throw my head back, clenching my jaw. "Ashton and Nash were always independent. Ashton got the most of our parents since she came first. Nash got the least, so she couldn't care less. Brooks holds it against them- she dipped the first chance she got. But-" I cut myself off, bringing the glass to my lips to end the conversation. Morgan watches me. "Tell me. I'm listening."

His simple words prick tears at my eyes. He's right- he is listening. He wants to know.

"But I'm... I'm scared," I finally admit, the weight rolling off my shoulders. "At least Nash is here sometimes. If I moved out, I'd be alone. Always."

My admission is like pulling the plug on a dam, and now I can't stop. "I hate it. I hate this house. It's like a... a shell of a home. I hate the stupid white furniture and how I feel like a ghost. I hate that it's quiet all the time and I hate that the only people who ever really saw me were my sisters and now they're all gone too."

The silence is heavy when I finish. My hand is still gripping the glass and I have to force myself to loosen my grip. Softly, he finally says, "You don't gotta stay, you know."

I look up at him, confused. "What?" He shrugs, but there's something careful about his tone. "The offer's still on the table, for Tennessee."

I scoff, turning to put the glass in the sink. "Yeah, because moving across the country with I guy I hardly know will definitely solve my problems."

It comes out harsher than intended. It doesn't bother Morgan, though. Instead, he replies, "I think gettin' outta here might be." My fingers grip the edge of the marble counter. The words I don't want to speak swirl around my head, fighting, begging to come out.

"Do you really think that'll fix anything?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "I don't. But you can't expect to get out of a rut if you stay in it forever."

I can feel his intense gaze that's starting to get under my skin as the familiar tug at my side makes me growl. I press my hand to my forehead, pointing toward the living room. "Go get my bag, please," I sigh, reaching to peel the sensor off the back of my arm. I wince at the feeling of the adhesive tugging my skin. Morgan obeys, disappearing from the room.

"Need help?" he asks, his voice cautious. He doesn't know if he should be offering or not. I glance up as he holds my purse out, surprised by his offer. "I'm okay," I mutter, my voice lighter than intended. There's something about his offer that makes me feel insecure. It might be a small thing, but it's so personal that the thought of letting him help makes me squirm.

He watches carefully as I dig through the bag, pulling out a fresh sensor. I lift my shirt slightly, pinning it between my chin and chest as I follow the routine I've been doing since middle school. I click the button, the new sensor inserting itself into the fleshy skin near my bellybutton. My eye twitches at the sharp sting.

Morgan's attentive expression makes me feel exposed. "You okay?" he asks, his voice quiet. I give him a tight smile, rubbing the area around the device softly. "Yeah. Just stings." He nods- a brief, uncomfortable silence settles over the two of us. It's almost as if we crossed a line. Maybe I've let him in too much.

"So, what now?" I ask, shaking the awkwardness from the room. "I don't know, what do you usually do after a life-shattering conversation?" He leans back against the counter, a smirk tugging at his lips. I roll my eyes, suppressing a relieving smile. Something about the way his eyes twinkle when he laughs makes me feel a little more comfortable.

"You know," he begins, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm still not over the whole Blake-Juliette thing."

My eyes narrow slightly. "What about it?"

"It just..." he scratches the back of his head, looking at me with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Seems like you don't like people callin' you Blake."

I shrug, chewing on the inside of my mouth. "It's just a name." His expression suddenly turns serious. "But it's your name." There's a small pang in my chest. "Not really," I reply, trying to brush it off.

"Yeah. Guess it's kinda like you're hidin' behind it, huh?" My heart skips a beat. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Blake. Juliette. 'ts all the same, but you ain't really lettin' anyone know who you really are, huh? Because no one knows who Blake is," he says casually, tapping his fingers against his arm. "Why does it matter? Are you that interesting in knowing who Blake is?" I roll my eyes, starting for the door. I don't know his angle, but it's weirding me out.

"Maybe." Morgan follows me into the living room. I shake my head at his answer, curling up into the recliner. "Well keep wishing, cowboy, 'cause it isn't happening."

Morgan sits on the couch next to me, leaning back. He grins, clearly not taking me seriously. "I think I could get you to let me in."

"Yeah, well, keep thinking. It obviously isn't your strong suite."

"Oh, I will. I got all the time in the world." His expression is mischievous, making me both frustrated and oddly flattered. There's an easy confidence to his tone, making me shift. "What's your game, Wallen?"

He rests his arms on the edge of the couch. "Just tryn'a keep you on your toes." I laugh awkwardly, a small shiver running through me. I pull my knees into my chest, watching him carefully- the weight of our conversation pressed down on me, but he seems unaffected.

"So, you think you have me figured out, huh?" I try to keep my tone light. He shrugs, his smirk falling into something more genuine. "Not yet, at least. I plan on it, though."

He disguises his honesty as teasing. As much as I want to push him away, his calm, steady presence keeps me from doing so. "Why does it matter so much to you?" I challenge, leaning forward slightly. "Why do you wanna know who Blake is so bad?"

He tilts his head, considering my question. He leans forward as well, shrinking the gap between us. "I know what it's like. And, I think you want someone to try. You deserve to have someone try."

His matter-of-factly answer catches me off guard. I hate the way his answer poked at the cracks I've been working so hard to keep sealed- it makes my throat tighten.

I rise to my feet, suddenly too aware of the small proximity between us. "You really should stop trying to play savior," I bite, walking over to the blanket rack and pulling one from its place. "Not tryn'a play savior, just think you could use a friend."

I wrap the fuzzy blanket around me before settling back down on the recliner. "Oh, that's what this is?" I scoff. Morgan raises his hands in surrender. "I figured- just someone to call you out on your bullshit."

My eyes narrow- he doesn't flinch, doesn't look away. That steady confidence sends a ripple of frustration- and something else that I can't place- through me. I break first- "You don't know me, Morgan."

"Not yet," he replies. "But I'd like to."

The words get stuck in my throat, so I force myself to turn my attention to the window. There's not much to look at- the curtains are drawn open, particles of dust dancing around the sunlight that filters in through the gap in the blinds. I can feel his gaze that burns my cheeks.

After a moment, Morgan speaks again; this time, his voice is quieter than before. "Just think about Tennessee, okay? I think it'd do you some good."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because someone should."

My mouth hangs open in surprise. I turn to meet his eyes- they're soft, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. There's no teasing, no smirk. Just him sitting there in all his might, like he means in.

He must sense how heavy this all is on me- he watches me fidget with the threads on the blanket before he slaps his hands against his thighs. "So, what'da you usually do 'round here? For fun."

I shrug, avoiding his gaze. "Read. Watch TV. Think about all the things I could be doing instead."

"Rivetin'." I snap, my tone lacking any sort of bite, "Don't mock me." Morgan gestures towards the window. "I'm not, I'm just thinkin', we got some daylight left. Let's go do somethin'."

"Taylor just threatened to 'pull the plug' if anything else happens. whatever the hell that's supposed to mean," I remind him, annoyance laced in my words. He rises to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rises slightly, showing off the skin of his lower abdomen, right above the button of his jeans. I quickly glance away, feeling awkward for even noticing.

A throw pillow hits the side of my head and plops against the carpeted floor. "Forget 'em. Let's go do somethin'."

i'm writing this on thanksgiving, i wanted to say that i'm so thankful for each and every one of u who show me so much love on this story. i love u all and hope you have a good day 💗