I hear the words leave her mouth, I even feel Blake walking up the stairs and pulling me along to follow, like he knows where my room is, but I can’t believe it. Even as my body takes the lead and closes the door behind him, I’m silent. Dumbfounded might be the right word, but I can’t form the right word.

Until Blake speaks.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, considering that we aren’t friends and all. But I wanted to say something, so just hear me out?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he continues speaking. If he had, he’d have heard me say, Sure. Blake’s not the only one in the wrong here.

“I was wrong.”

“Again,” I add firmly.

He nods. “Yeah, I was wrong again. To, you know, lash out at you. You were brought into this world without asking for it. It’s not your fault that my mom didn’t give you all the information. And I know my brother. He’d be happy that someone like you got his liver. He’d be happy that you have his liver. He’d like you. Hell, he’d probably be your friend.”

I listen intently, picking up on every word. Individually, they make sense, but together? Is Blake McIntyre apologizing?

I could reply with some quippy attack. But instead, I pull it back. No I told you so or anything similar. Instead, I opt for something else entirely: common ground.

“I really appreciate that,” I say, which is honest. “Your brother would be proud of you too.”

Blake laughs a throaty laugh that doesn’t sound entirely honest and sits on the edge of my bed. “Don’t flatter me, Andre. I don’t do well with flattery; I get cocky and brazen.”

“I’m serious,” I say, sitting next to him. “Think about it. You’ve taught me, or are teaching me, how to time travel.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re learning that on your own,” he notes. “You’re a natural, Andre. I’ve really only given you, what, one lesson?”

“One and a half.”

“See.” He nudges me. “I rest my case.”

“Hey.” I squeeze his shoulder and let my hand linger a moment too long. “Even those one and a half lessons were important. In hindsight, maybe shoving me into the past—literally—wasn’t a horrible idea.”

Blake’s green eyes settle on my hand, then slowly move up to my face. There’s something almost innocent in his eyes, like when a parent tells a child they are proud of them.

“Point is,” I continue, “I wouldn’t be as good as I am without you taking the initiative to push me in the right direction. No pun intended.”

“No one has ever said that to me before,” he mutters.

“I find that hard to believe.”