“Remember me?” I deadpanned. “My room’s next to yours.”

His smile faded a little. Instead of handing it back, he slipped his fingers into the hair tie and gave it a slow twist.

I should’ve snatched it right off his wrist or snapped at him for dragging this out longer than necessary.

But something about the way he looked at it made me pause.

“Get in the car, Beverly,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

A strange ache pressed against my ribs.

I opened my mouth, ready to call him out for being so annoying, but the words never made it past my lips. They lodged themselves in my throat like a bitter pill I couldn’t swallow.

His fingers continued to trace the hair tie, spinning it idly.

I left his room before he could catch me staring or notice the way my heart seemed to beat a little faster than it should have.

41

BLAKE, 1999

18 years old

“Say something,” Sydney demanded, shoving a Polaroid into my face. It was a blurry snapshot of her at some party, laughing and leaning into some guy’s chest, his arm possessively wrapped around her waist.

I stepped out of the shower, water dripping down my chest, barely registering the picture she waved around like a warning. “Syd, it’s just a picture.”

“Just a picture?” she repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say, Blake? You don’t even ask who he is. You don’t ask what this means. Nothing.” She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You know what’s funny? I thought this would piss you off. I thought you’d see this and—” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “But you don’t care, do you?”

I snatched a white towel from the rack, wrapping it loosely around my waist before finally turning to face her. “Do you want me to scream at you, Sydney? Is that what this is?”

She glared at me, clutching the Polaroid in her hand.

“You want me to lose it?” I asked. “Start throwing accusations like that will somehow change things? Because if that’s what you want, then just say the word. I can do that. I can yell and play the role, the jealous, furious boyfriend. I can ask all the questions you expect me to ask. But let’s not pretend that’s what this is about.”

Her brown eyes narrowed into unforgiving slits.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, pacing the small space between the sink and the door. “You just don’t feel anything, do you?”

“If you’re hoping to make me jealous, it’s not working.”

For a moment, the fire in her eyes flickered. “So that’s it, huh? I’ve spent weeks trying to be patient, trying to be good enough, but I’m done. I’m done trying to make you want me.”