Then she took a slow turn through the room, trailing her hand along the mirror, her eyes scanning every inch like she was trying to memorize it. “Kind of weird, huh?”

“Weird how?” I asked.

“That you bought this for me. That you kept it for two years. That you never told me.”

I sat down on the stool, the wood creaking under my weight. “We’re pretty good at weird, B.”

She smiled at that, even though she tried not to. Then silence—the kind of silence that says talk to me but also don’t you dare.

She folded her arms, her gaze drifting back to the mirrors. “So, what now?” Her voice was quiet. Careful.

“Now you say something. Yell. Throw something at me.”

Her mouth twitched—barely. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Tiptoe around it,” she said. She didn’t sound angry. Just tired. “This is the part where we tiptoe around what happened, right?”

I blinked. “You mean the part where I walked out like an idiot, or the part where you didn’t come out of the storage room while they dragged me out in cuffs?”

Her jaw tensed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like I wanted that to happen.”

I exhaled slowly. “I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“Okay,” I admitted. “Maybe I did. Maybe I was a little pissed you let them take me without saying a single word.”

“I couldn’t move, Blake,” she said, voice low. “I was frozen. You don’t get to punish me for how I handled that moment.”

“I didn’t mean to punish you. But…you didn’t say anything. Not once. Not a text. Not a letter. Not a—” I stopped myself.

Her eyes locked on mine. “You left me first.”

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of her words settle like a stone in my chest.

“I know,” I sighed. “I know, B.” I looked down at my hands. “But I was stupid and grieving and convinced that I was poison. And you—” I stopped, the words catching. “You were the only thing I ever wanted that felt good. And I was terrified I’d ruin you, too. I didn’t expect you to come out or⁠—”

“You shouted my name like you did.”

I let out a breath that felt like it’d been stuck in my lungs for years. “Yeah, well. Hope’s a hell of a thing.”

“You left. You always leave, Blake.”

I met her blue eyes across the room, bitterness creeping in. “And you hid. When I needed you to come out, you didn’t.”

Beverly glared, then walked over to the stereo system I’d set up a few weeks ago. She fiddled with the knobs, and the opening beat of If You Had My Love by Jennifer Lopez filled the room.

Then she started to move.