Why is he buying me gifts? He has a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend. Our past has already caused enough problems in my present. I certainly don’t need gifts to exacerbate that.

“Why are you buying me gifts, Atlas?”

He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “I bought it three years ago. I’ve been holding on to it in case I ever ran into you.”

Considerate Atlas. He hasn’t changed. Dammit.

I pick up the gift and set it on the floor behind my desk. I try to release some of the tension I’m feeling, but it’s really hard when everything about him makes me so tense.

“I came here to apologize to you,” he says.

I wave off his apology, letting him know it isn’t necessary. “It’s fine. It was a misunderstanding. Ryle is fine.”

He laughs under his breath. “That’s not what I’m apologizing for,” he says. “I’d never apologize for defending you.”

“You weren’t defending me,” I say. “There was nothing to defend.”

He tilts his head, giving me the same look that he gave me last night. The one that lets me know how disappointed in me he is. It stings deep in my gut.

I clear my throat. “Why are you apologizing, then?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Contemplative. “I wanted to apologize for saying that you sounded like your mother. That was hurtful. And I’m sorry.”

I don’t know why I always feel like crying when I’m around him. When I think about him. When I read about him. It’s like my emotions are still tethered to him somehow and I can’t figure out how to cut the strings.

His eyes drop to my desk. He reaches forward and grabs three things. A pen. A sticky note. My phone.

He writes something down on the sticky note and then proceeds to pull my phone apart. He slips the case off and puts the sticky note between the case and the phone, then slides the cover back over it. He pushes my phone back across the desk. I look down at it and then up at him. He stands up and tosses the pen on my desk.

“It’s my cell phone number. Keep it hidden there in case you ever need it.”

I wince at the gesture. The unnecessary gesture. “I won’t need it.”

“I hope not.” He walks to the door and reaches for the doorknob. And I know this is my only chance to get out what I have to say before he’s out of my life forever.

“Atlas, wait.”

I stand up so fast, my chair scoots across the room and bumps against the wall. He half turns and faces me.

“What Ryle said to you last night? I never . . .” I bring a nervous hand up to my neck. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. “I never said that to him. He was hurt and upset and he misconstrued my words from a long time ago.”