Not after the way he looked back at me with those fervent hazel eyes, mouth parted in a silent plea for me to just do something. God, please—

I know what I would have liked to have done, sure, but I’m not yet that far gone that I’ll risk what’s left of my stupid beating heart on a potential closet case. Or whatever he is.

Because despite how much time has passed—how much we’ve changed and grown while we were apart—when it comes to us, we’re right back where we were ten years ago. We’re just two dumbass kids stuck on two separate pages. It was stupid to think I could flip to a new chapter just because we shared some kind of moment.

I didn’t come back here to be anyone’s hero, let alone a fucking human punching bag in the meantime while he figures his shit out. I’ve got my own crap to deal with, thanks.

“He’s not a bad person, you know.”

“Never said he was.”

Ivy’s throat bobs delicately with her swallow. Giving me a little nod, she cuts a glance to where the guys still talk huddled by the bar. “I’m not stupid, Will.”

I try not to visibly react.

“I heard you down here last week. That fight you and Mason were talking about? From when you were kids? You told him it was just a stupid misunderstanding. That he thought you told someone something you weren’t supposed to.”

“Ivy—”

“He tells me everything,” she insists, dragging her gaze back to mine. “He tells me everything, he always has. So why did I never know about you?”

At my silence, she huffs from her nose. “Something’s been different since you moved here—he’s been different—and for the life of me, I can’t freaking figure it out. I mean, sure, I have my theories, but...”

“Have you tried asking him?” I interject calmly.

She scoffs. “Of course. Why do you think I’m confronting you instead? I’ve run it through my head over and over and over—everything that could be causing”—she waves a hand—“whatever this is. It’s not his dad,” she says, more to herself than me. “That might be part of it, but that doesn’t explain whatever happened in the last twenty-four hours, because I would have—”

“His dad?”

Her mouth opens, then shuts as her attention snaps back to my face. Her brow creases as she studies me closely. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you did,” I say slowly. Something squeezes my chest as the ground seems to give way beneath my feet.

Billy Sharpe. He assured me it was Billy Sharpe.

“What?”

There’s a weird buzzing in my ears as I lift my fingers to massage where it feels like a rock has permanently crammed itself in my throat.