He traced lazy circles against my back, the soothing rhythm making it hard to focus on anything else. The warmth of his touch seemed to melt into my skin, and the soft pressure sent little shivers down my spine. “You willing to suffer through that for me?”

I closed my eyes, pressing just a little closer. “For you? Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He buried his face into the crook of my neck, his words a whisper against my skin. “I don’t deserve you.”

We didn’t say much after that—just lay there with our legs tangled under the sheets, the house quiet in that sacred, middle-of-the-night way.

“Blake?” I whispered after a few minutes.

He shifted slightly, then tightened his hold on me just a little, as if reassuring himself that I was still there, still in his arms. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I broke your room,” I murmured.

“I’m sorry I broke your heart.”

59

BLAKE, 2001

20 years old

Beverly was asleep, tangled in the sheets beside me, one arm curled under her cheek and one leg thrown across mine. As for me? I was a mess. I tried to close my eyes, tried to count backwards from a hundred, tried to pretend I wasn’t painfully, pathetically aware of every soft breath she took.

How was I supposed to sleep with her looking like that? Hair messy and splayed across the pillow. Face relaxed, skin glowing under the low light like something carved out of moonlight.

Every time I closed my eyes, I opened them again just to check if she was still there. And every time, she was.

I watched her and tried not to drown in the weight of everything I felt. The sheets felt too warm. The room too quiet. I was restless. Unmoored. Shaking with a need I couldn’t name. Restless in that full-body, soul-deep way that made it hard to be still. She breathed in. I exhaled. Her nose scrunched a little and I thought, Jesus, you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?

I had no idea what to do with myself.

I’d spent too many months wondering if I’d ever see her again. Months convincing myself that this—her, me—would never happen. And now it was. And all I could do was sit here, heart in my throat, haunted by every stupid mistake I’d ever made and terrified I’d make more.

My hand hovered near her face, not touching, just there. Close enough to feel the warmth of her. I blinked up at the ceiling, teeth clenched, heart pacing as if it knew something I didn’t. My mind was loud. Too loud. Every apology I still hadn’t said. Every promise I hadn’t made yet. Every plan, every fear, every unspoken hope crammed into the same five inches of space between my ribs.

I was still wide awake when the clock blinked 3:46 a.m.