Anna turns to Gemma. “Five weeks,” she whispers. “Howcouldyou?”
Then she spins toward the door.
“No! Anna. Please,” Gemma cries. “Don’t go. Please—don’t go.” She repeats it like a chant.
Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.
A muscle feathers in Anna’s jaw. “I told you what happened with Nicole. I asked you not to touch him. I told you to doone fucking thing, Gemma!”
Gemma takes a cautious step forward. “I didn’t—”
“—mean to?” Anna scoffs. “I wouldneverdo this to you, Gemma. I would never betray your trust and go behind your back if you asked me not to do something.”
Gemma flinches as if the words land a physical blow.
Anna diverts her gaze back to me. “I told youeverythingI’ve been going through with Mason, Max! And you still—” Her voice cracks. “You still did this.”
“What do you mean, Anna?” Gemma asks through tears.
Anna swipes angrily at the wetness staining her cheeks, her lip wobbling as she tries—and fails—to hold it together.
“Is that why you’re here? Because of Mason?” I ask, taking a step closer. “Anna—what happened?” My voice drops.
“Please don’t,” she whispers, shaking her head as she presses a trembling hand over her mouth. Then, a loud sob rips out of her. So thunderous and raw that it cracks my heart in half.
“What happened?” I say, growing more concerned.
“Anna…” Gemma says quietly.
And then I see it in Anna’s eyes.
She isn’t just angry.
She’s grieving.
“Weasel,” I whisper.
Anna steps up to me and collapses in my arms. “I needed you!” she cries, beating her fists against my chest. “I needed you”—she chokes on her next breath—“and you hurt me too! Ineededyou!”
I wrap my arms around her, holding her as tight as I can. My chest is heavy and my vision blurs. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, burying my face in her hair as she wails. “I didn’t know, Anna. I’m so sorry.”
When I lift my eyes, Gemma’s still there, arms folded across her middle as if she’s trying to keep herself together. Her eyes swim with guilt and…fear.
I meet her gaze and beg her with a look that screams everything I can’t say out loud.Please don’t leave.
She reads it. But I see it in the way her chin lifts. In the subtle shake of her head.
She isn’t staying.
“I’m so sorry, Anna. This should never have happened,” she pleads.
“No,” I say to Gemma, my voice low.
She tenses her jaw.
“No, Gemma, please.”
Gemma’s watery gaze stays fixed on the scene in front of her. On the wreckage that we’ve made.
