In Between

Late At Night

I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling the soft, steady rhythm of the car beneath me. My head is resting on Walker's lap, his fingers gently running through my hair. I blink, trying to shake off the heaviness in my eyes, but the exhaustion clings to me, making it hard to focus. The last thing I remember is being in the stairwell with Walker, his heartbeat under my hand, and the panic slowly ebbing away. Now, everything feels distant, like I'm floating between waking and sleep.

The car is quiet, except for the low hum of the engine. I can hear my dad up front, his hands tight around the steering wheel, the tension in the air thick enough to cut through. He hasn't said anything since we got in the car, but I can feel it—his disapproval, his worry.

I shift slightly, my cheek brushing against Walker's leg, and I look up at him. His face is calm, but there's a tightness around his eyes, like he's still carrying the weight of what happened earlier. His fingers pause in my hair for a second when he notices I'm awake, but then he resumes, his touch gentle, comforting.

"Hey," he whispers, barely audible.

"Hey," I murmur back, my voice thick with sleep.

For a moment, I don't say anything else. I don't want to. Being here, like this, feels too safe, too warm. I don't want to break the silence with all the thoughts swirling in my head, with all the things I'm too afraid to say.

Walker's fingers trace patterns in my hair, and I close my eyes again, leaning into the feeling. I don't know what I'd do without him. Today, I felt like I was falling apart, and he was the only thing holding me together. He always is.

But that thought terrifies me too. What if I'm leaning on him too much? What if this—us—is too much?

I can sense my dad's gaze in the rearview mirror, though he hasn't said a word. I don't need to see his face to know how he feels about this, about Walker. He hasn't liked how close we've gotten lately, and I can't blame him. I can barely make sense of it myself.

I shift again, my body aching from the weight of everything that's happened today. The question from the interview keeps looping in my mind like a broken record: *"Do you feel like you've only gotten this far because of your parents? Being Ryan Reynolds' and Blake Lively's daughter?"*

My chest tightens just thinking about it, and I press my hand against my heart, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety start to form. But then Walker's voice echoes in my head: *"You have to breathe, sweetheart."*

I let out a shaky breath, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest, on the way Walker's fingers stroke my hair. It's okay. I'm okay.

When we finally pull up to the house, my dad gets out of the car first, his footsteps heavy as he walks around to open the door for us. I slowly sit up, my body protesting the movement, and Walker helps me out of the car, his hand warm on my arm.

I glance at my dad, but he's already turned away, heading up the driveway without a word. The silence between him and Walker has been loud ever since we left the party, and it's only getting worse.

"Let's get you inside," Walker says softly, his hand still steady on my back.

I nod, too tired to argue, and lean into him as we walk up the steps. The warmth of the house hits me as soon as we step inside, but it does nothing to ease the tension knotting in my chest. My dad disappears into the kitchen, leaving us alone in the entryway.

Walker doesn't say anything, just guides me upstairs toward my room. Each step feels heavier than the last, like the weight of the day is pressing down harder with every second.

By the time we reach my bedroom, I'm barely holding it together. I sit down on the edge of the bed, feeling the exhaustion pull me down, but there's something else there too—something heavier. The weight of everything I've been carrying, everything I've been trying to hide.

Walker kneels in front of me, his hands resting gently on my knees. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft.

I want to say yes. I want to tell him that I'm fine, that I can handle it, that I'm not falling apart. But I can't. I can't lie to him, not when he's looking at me like this—like he can see right through me.

"I don't know," I whisper, my throat tightening. "I just... I feel like I'm losing it."

Walker's expression softens, and for a second, I think he's going to say something, but instead, he just pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in his chest, and the tears I've been holding back finally spill over. I can't stop them this time. I don't even try.

"I'm right here," he murmurs, his voice warm against my hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

His arms tighten around me, and for a moment, I let myself believe that. I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.