DAMIEN 

Macey wanted to have kids. Shit. Kids.  

My chest tightened, a sudden, panicked weight that made my hands shake on the wheel. Why the fuck was she telling me this? Did I give her the impression that we were serious? That we were—what, in some kind of plan-for-the-future mode? Because if I did, I definitely didn’t mean to. 

I gripped the steering wheel harder. My mind raced.  

Fuck me. I was scared. Scared of…everything. Scared of commitment, scared of letting someone ...