Sydney must have mistaken my silence for something else because the next thing I knew, her arms were wrapping around me from behind, her chin resting lightly against my shoulder.

I didn’t shrug her off. Because I was too tired. Too hurt. Too messed up to tell her that her comfort wasn’t what I needed.

“This was your sister, right?” she asked.

The word curled in my stomach like poison.

Sydney must have felt me tense because she pulled back slightly, her arms still draped loosely around me.

Something about the way she said it made me want to tear my own skin off. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose, trying to steady myself, trying to get rid of the pressure pressing against my ribcage like something was going to break.

Sydney pulled me down onto the bed. I let her.

I let her fingers brush through my hair.

I let her hold me like she actually thought she could fix me.

And I hated it. Because it wasn’t Beverly’s hand. It wasn’t Beverly’s voice. And no matter how tightly Sydney held me, I still felt like I was falling apart.

Because she wasn’t Beverly Price.

Because her arms weren’t home.

* * *

Sydney hadn’t moved, hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t taken the hint that I wasn’t really here. Maybe she was waiting for me to say something, to explain whatever the hell had just happened, to make this less awkward for both of us.

But I didn’t have an explanation.

At first, I stayed stiff, arms at my sides, breath slow and even, like maybe if I kept perfectly still, I wouldn’t feel anything.

Maybe if I didn’t move, I could pretend this wasn’t happening.

Then Sydney shifted against me, adjusting so she could lay her head on my chest. She smelled like something faintly floral, something forgettable. Her fingers traced absentminded patterns against my chest, light enough that I barely noticed.

For some reason, I didn’t pull away. She was warm.

I was cold, and she was warm. And maybe that’s what I needed.

Maybe I needed someone who wasn’t Beverly sitting here with me. Someone who wasn’t looking at me like I had just ripped her heart out and handed it back in pieces. Someone who didn’t have blue eyes that had haunted me for years.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

She hummed. “Okay.”

No pushing. No prying. Just a simple okay.

I exhaled slowly, relaxing just enough to let my muscles stop aching from how tense they were.

Sydney didn’t know Beverly. She didn’t know that the last time I laid in bed with someone like this, it was her. Maybe that was a good thing. Because the last thing I wanted to do right now was think about Beverly, let alone explain her place in this mess.