The road stretched on for hours. We passed rolling hills and sleepy towns. I had the window down and one hand out. We kept talking like old times. Light things. Dumb things. He made fun of my parking once. I told him he still drove like a grandpa. He told me I still hummed when I was thinking. I told him to shut up and eat his popcorn. It was easy. Effortless.

Until it wasn’t. Until somewhere along the 101, as we passed a diner that reminded me of the one we used to sneak off to after dances, the ache crept in again. One moment we were laughing, the next I was staring at the road too hard, my throat suddenly tight. I drove a little faster, my jaw clenched a little tighter.

Blake noticed, of course.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting up a little.

I couldn’t answer. The words were there, stuck somewhere between my throat and my heart, but they wouldn’t come out.

“B? Hey,” he said softly. “Where’d you go just now?”

I kept my eyes on the road. “Nowhere.”

“You sure?”

I blinked fast. “I just—” I swallowed. “I can’t believe you were just gone.”

Blake’s face changed instantly. Softened, then pulled taut with guilt. He turned in his seat slightly, as if trying to close the distance between us, even though he hadn’t moved an inch. “Bev⁠—”

“I get it,” I said quickly. “I know. I know I told Tiffany not to tell you where I was. But I still…” My voice cracked. “I needed you to find me. Even if I didn’t make it easy. And when you didn’t, when it was just silence for so long—” My voice cracked. Again. “I just wanted you to try.”

Beside me, Blake said nothing.

I blinked quickly, my eyes stinging. “I used to stare at the café door,” I whispered. “Every single day. For hours, I’d just sit there, waiting for something to change. And then one day, you came. And I hid. So maybe it’s all on me. Maybe I don’t get to feel this way. But I do.”

He was quiet for a long beat.

The road stretched ahead, the skyline of Los Angeles still a few hours away, and the past sat heavy between us again.

“It’s not fair,” he finally said, his voice low. “Yes, I left you first. But I tried to fix it. But then you were gone. You cut me off, and I respected that. As much as it killed me, I respected it. But I did try, Beverly. I wrote you letters. For a whole goddamn year⁠—”

That made me look at him. “What letters?”

“The ones I gave Tiffany.”

“No, you didn’t.” I shook my head.

“I did. And when you never responded, I assumed you told her to stop. That you didn’t want them.”