I swallow the painful lump in my throat and turn off the light before slipping under the covers myself, making a point to scooch as far away from the other side of the bed as possible.

The thin cotton sheets and down comforter prove to be an ineffective barrier against ravening thoughts, however. I don’t know how long I lie on the mattress for, but it’s not long enough for endless pondering to wear my brain out.

I finally slip out of bed and head downstairs. Anne has an extensive tea collection, so I might as well try a cup.

At this point, I’m pretty sure the only thing that will knock me out is a few shots. But I’ve got morning practice, and I made a vow that Adler Beck would never interfere with my performance on the soccer field.

An oath that was far easier to keep back when I’d done nothing but beat him in a shootout.

I’m filling the kettle with water when a familiar timbre sounds behind me. “What are you doing?”

“Making tea,” I respond, turning the tap off with a little more force than is strictly necessary. The hardware wobbles its way back into place. Another thing for our landlord to never get around to fixing.

“You’re a light sleeper?”

“Not normally,” I respond, flicking the burner on and setting the full kettle atop the flame. I grab a mug and pull out the drawer to scan through the packets of tea. Anything to keep from making eye contact with Beck.

He catches my meaning. “I can sleep on the couch. My flight’s in a few hours, anyway.”

“It is?” My eyes dart to his azure ones, and I’m snared in his gaze, dammit.

“Yeah, it is,” Beck confirms.

“Guess I should be grateful you’re giving me more than an hour’s notice this time.” I shut the drawer. Hard. The whole kitchen is going to be in shambles by the time I brew myself a mug of glorified plant water.

“Fuck, Saylor.” Anger stirs in the blue depths I can’t look away from. “You can’t act pissed when I show up and when I say I’m leaving.”

“I wasn’t ‘pissed’ you showed up, I was surprised,” I retort. “Now I am pissed.”

“Because I wouldn’t fuck you?” Beck snaps.

“Because you say one thing and act the opposite!”

“At least I say things. You give me nothing at all!”

“That’s not true!”

“You left Germany without saying goodbye. You hardly said anything when I told you I wanted a relationship. You called me drunk and then didn’t answer a single one of my calls.” Beck ticks off my mistakes, and I can’t deny a single one of them.

“Don’t you get it? You weren’t supposed to mean anything, Beck!”

“Yeah, I got it,” he sallies.