“But what?” she asked, not looking at him, tone unreadable.

He stared at nothing, feeling empty and scraped out from the inside. “But you’re you. You were my best friend and the only girl I’ve ever loved like that. I loved you before him and after him and I love you now. I’ve accepted that the feeling is never going to go away. It’s part of who I am. In my bones.” He looked her way. “I’m the guy who’s in love with Kincaid Breslin.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her hazel eyes glistening. “Someone who loved me that much wouldn’t have lied to me.”

His breath sagged out of him, inevitability washing through him. He hadn’t expected her to react any differently. He’d known what it would mean to tell her. This was his penance for what he’d done. He was destined to love the woman who could never love him back.

He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and took a steadying breath. “I’m going to go.”

She stiffened next to him. “What? Now?”

He stood, the bed squeaking. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say. The Lowells will let me use their guest room. You can have this place as long as you need.”

Her jaw flexed. “You’re just going to go?”

“KC…”

She looked away. “Fine. Go.”

He moved quickly around the apartment on numb autopilot, dropping toiletries and clothes in a bag and grabbing his laptop and backpack. Kincaid stayed where she was on the bed, not saying a word.

When he grabbed the doorknob to leave, he looked back at her one last time, trying to memorize her face. “Goodbye, KC.”

She didn’t look his way. She didn’t say goodbye.

He lifted his bag over his shoulder and walked out.

* * *

Kincaid lay in Ash’s bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and letting the grief wash over her in a flood. She didn’t know where to start with processing everything he’d told her. For all her adult life, she’d believed one story about what had happened to her the night of the Long Acre shooting. She’d used that story as a touchstone, a formative moment in her life, and then had painted myth and magic around it to give it meaning and purpose. She’d canonized Graham, had used him as proof that true love existed, that soul mates were real. She’d used her and Graham’s relationship as a yardstick by which to judge all others. She’d believed that he’d been The One, that she’d lost The One.

But all this time, it’d been a lie. She’d just been fooling herself with some ridiculous fairy tale. There was no soul mate, no The One. The man she thought loved her had been possessive, manipulative, and insecure. The best friend she thought she could count on had lied to her face.

Men couldn’t be trusted. Period. Full stop.

Maybe her mother had been right.

The early-morning sun started to turn the room pink, the ceiling she’d been staring at shifting shades. She took a deep breath. Her throat was raw, her eyes burning, and her body sapped. Part of her wanted to lie here all day. Be miserable. Feel sorry for herself. Wallow with a capital W. But another part of her, the outspoken part of her, was wagging a finger at her. This was not who she was.