She shook her head, looking down. “No. It’s not like that. I just needed a familiar face.”

“You can’t just show up like this. Not after everything.”

She was still looking at her feet. “I’m sorry. It’s just that … I feel like I’ve lost everything.” The words broke with a sob as her hand moved to her face.

And with a third sigh, this one resigned, the doubt I’d had about her sincerity was gone. I stepped into her, pulled her in for a hug, let her cry for a minute.

Because I understood. She didn’t have anyone—she’d selectively pushed and pulled everyone in her life toward and away like a never-ending yoyo. Her father was largely absent, and her mother existed between cycles of benders and hangovers. Not everyone could handle Wendy, certainly not her parents, and everyone else had left, unwilling to love her enough to shoulder the burden of times like these.

I was Wendy’s constant. And whatever had happened triggered her, which meant she was either teetering on the edge of a downswing or about to manipulate me.

I’d keep my eyes open for the latter because I couldn’t ignore the former.

She backed away, swiping at her face. “God, I’m sorry.”

“What happened?”

Wendy laughed through a sob. “I should have quit dating Hollywood executives. Among other things I should have quit doing.” She took a breath and straightened up, smiling a little brighter. “You know, you’ve always been able to make me feel better.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

She smiled, a small, sad expression. And with her hand on my arm, she stretched to kiss me on the cheek. “You were here,” she said quietly, backing away. “Can I text you?”

My lips flattened. “If you need to.”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said and turned to walk away.

I stood on the sidewalk and watched her go, wondering why the hell she couldn’t have stayed on the other side of the country where she belonged. The sight of her was a shock I hadn’t expected.

One I hadn’t prepared Tess for.

Tess.

I picked up my feet, hurrying for the shop with my mind on her. By the time I reached the door, I was buzzing, humming with anticipation, an apology rolling through my head on a loop.

I didn’t even know what I needed to apologize for. I couldn’t control Wendy any better than I could control the weather. But my guilt ran deep—for her presence, for whatever she’d said to Tess. For marrying her. For not walking away. For my sense of duty.

More than anyone, I wished to be able to turn my back on that.

I wound through the store, hurrying into the back, but she was gone. Ivy’s eyes were sad, her face drawn.

My heart hit my shoes.

“She’s in storage,” was all she said.

And I took off before she was even finished speaking. I didn’t register my dad and brother, though their disappointment weighed heavy on me as I passed. Not in me. For me.