“We’d have found a way.”

She gave him a get-real look. “Really? Because when I tried to talk to you about it, you just said, ‘You gotta do what’s best for you.’”

“Daisy—”

“Look, I get it,” she said. “Your dad had just had a stroke, and Rocco bailed on you, leaving you the tattoo shop, the house, and your dad’s recovery to deal with. All of it on your shoulders. I also get that you had to give up your college experience at Cal. I never blamed you for resenting me for going to New York—"

“That wasn’t it,” Diego said tightly. “Jesus.” He shoved his fingers into his hair. “Do you really think I resented you for getting something you wanted so badly?”

She stared up into his unhappy face and let out a breath. “No. That wasn’t very kind of me to say. I know you didn’t resent me. I know you were overwhelmed. But you shut me out, Diego. I offered to help, I tried to help, but you always pushed me away, saying you had it.”

“Because if I couldn’t have my dreams of getting out,” he said, “I wanted you to have yours. And I knew that wasn’t staying and watching me go down in flames. But you faded away from me.”

The reality was that she’d left thinking that they could still make it work, but whenever she tried to stay in contact, he’d been unwilling to communicate. Their calls had slowly gotten further and further apart. And she’d felt for him because he’d been in a really bad spot. But she’d wanted to be important to him. She’d needed to be important to someone, anyone, but especially to him.

“Daisy,” he said, his voice low with frustration. “You don’t have to temper yourself, not with me, never with me. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”

“All right.” She met his gaze. “You were important to me,” she said. “But I didn’t feel important to you.”

He looked stunned. “You were the most important thing in my life.”

“Really? Because when I left here for school, my life fell apart. My housing fell through, and so did a good portion of my funding. I was eating ramen and peanut butter. You didn’t even realize I was couch surfing. I got what you were facing, but all I needed was for you to ask how I was.”

“God.” He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I hate that you were living like that, but I didn’t realize. I was—”

“Busy. Swamped, really, and probably drowning, I know.” She softened her voice. “And I get it. You were eighteen years old and all by yourself when it came to your dad’s care, the tattoo shop, the house…everything. I hated that Rocco took off on you guys the way he did. You had to give up school and your entire life to take care of everything.”

Diego was quiet for a long moment, reflective. “When you left,” he finally said quietly, “I was…” He shook his head. “Devastated.”