“No.” I shook my head, stepping closer. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you care when it’s convenient for you.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, as if he were holding something back. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” My voice cracked, and I hated how desperate I sounded. “Because I spent months trying to talk to you, trying to figure out what I did wrong, and you just shut me out. Like I didn’t matter.”

He looked away, his hands balling loosely into fists at his sides. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” I demanded.

Silence.

That was all I got. Again.

Nothing except for the sound of my own breathing, heavy and ragged, filled the air between us. He was my shadow after all—never far enough to disappear but too close to breathe freely.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, the sting of hurt I’d buried deep inside bubbling to the surface. “You know what? Forget it.”

I turned toward the door, pushing past him.

“Bev—”

I spun back around before I even realized what I was doing, my heart pounding now for an entirely different reason. “No.”

Something flickered in his expression—something pained, something almost guilty—but I wasn’t going to let myself believe it. Because if he really cared, he wouldn’t have let me feel alone for all these months.

And the worst part?

Even now, after all of it, I still wanted him to stop me.

But he didn’t.

7

BLAKE, 1995

15 years old

I hadn’t intended to leave Beverly hanging for so long.

It just…sort of happened.

At first, it was intentional. I thought space was what we needed. What I needed. I’d convinced myself that if I put some distance between us, if I kept my head down and buried myself in my books, in learning Arabic and Spanish, in anything that wasn’t her, the thoughts would stop.

And it worked. I wasn’t thinking about her—at least not in any way that made my heart race or left me feeling unsettled. Not like that night. Not like the way I felt when she was curled up against me, warm and soft and comfortable in a way that made her feel dangerous. I wasn’t imagining her in my arms again.

So, the distance was good.

But in hindsight, I should’ve known better. I should’ve known she wouldn’t just sit back and accept it. Beverly wasn’t someone who could easily be ignored; not by me, not by anyone. Her presence demanded attention whether I wanted to give it or not.

And Beverly never let things go.

So now, she was pissed—rightfully so. I’d been a shit friend. She had every reason to be angry, every reason to walk out of that bathroom and never look back.