“Are you sure you want to?”

This scene has played out in my mind so many times, but I’m blank of comebacks right now. Of course. “I’ll be fine.”

I move to the front of the truck, and he finally gets out and stands in front of his. “Hey,” he says, his eyes darting from my dad to me. I didn’t show up on his doorstep, so I don’t feel I need to start this exchange. “I miss you, Lark.”

“You chose not to have me in your life. Did you not think missing me would be a side effect?”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly back then.”

I nod, getting a good look at him. He’s changed in a good way. Put on a little weight, got some sun. He looks healthier. Being a dad must suit him or being with Mia.

“Hey,” he says as if we didn’t just hit a wall with the last small talk. He shoves his hands in his back pockets as if I won’t notice how nervous he is. I do. I see it in the way the heel of his boot bounces and how he keeps looking away, not able to hold eye contact. “Congratulations on graduating and getting into medical school. Do you think you’ll come—”

“We’re not going to do this, Dane.” Tugging my hands free, I let them hang by my side. I listen as he moves in and out of different topics, trying to land on something that I might be open to exploring. Not going to happen. “I’m not.”

“Do what?” This time his eyes stay steady on me.

“We’re not going to stand here and act like we’re friends anymore. We’re not. You made that clear.”

“But—”

“No buts,” I say, shifting my weight to the other foot. “We always used to talk about loyalty. Where was yours?”

“I had no choice.”

“You had no good choice,” I snap. “But you had a choice, and you chose wrong.”

“I did.” He shakes his head. “I quit drugs. All of them. I don’t drink much, but that’s been harder to give up.”

“I’m glad. You look healthier. It’s noticeable. It’s good for your family.”

I sigh, my body feeling dragged down just talking to him. “Look, Dane, my dad’s waiting. I need to get going.” I start for the door, ready to end this awkwardness between us.

“I came here to give this to you.”

I turn back, my gaze dropping to his hand. The box fits in his hand. I know what it is, but I wonder if this is a trick. “What is it?”

“It’s yours. It was yours all along.”

My feet don’t move from the spot, and I struggle to swallow around the lump in my throat. I look back at him and ask, “Why? Why now?”

“Besides stating the obvious, that I was wrong, someone did me a favor when they didn’t have to.”

“What did they do?”

He reaches forward, holding it in his hand. When I take the box, he says, “He helped me get a solid job with real growth potential.”