He gently frees himself from my grip.
“We’ll talk later. When I’m a better version of myself. Because the one standing here right now? I don’t like him at all.”
Then he turns and walks toward the crowd gathering around the pink bus.
He walks straight, shoulders broad, head high.
But I see the tension in every line of his body.
My heart shatters into a thousand tiny, razor-sharp pieces.
I ruined everything.
He knows I’m a mess. He thinks I’m still tangled up in my past. He thinks he was used.
And he’s right.
At least, he was at first.
But now—now everything is different, and I don’t know how to make him see that.
I follow at a distance, dragging my feet.
We reach the crowd just as the bus doors open with a hiss.
The other couples are already hugging mothers, siblings, best friends. The air is full of joy, tears, celebration.
A petite, light-brown-haired girl steps off the bus, wearing a pale blue coat.
Grace.
She looks around, shy.
Cohen sees her.
But his face doesn’t light up. Normally, she’s the one thing that makes everything else fade away.
Today… she doesn’t.
He walks to her and pulls her into a tight hug, lifting her almost off the ground. It’s protective. Solid.
But when he lets go, he doesn’t smile.
He brushes her hair, murmurs something, but his face remains a mask of stone and pain.
Grace looks at him, confused. Touches his arm, asking silently.
He shakes his head, looking away.
She knows something is wrong. She knows her brother is hurting.
And it’s my fault.
I stop at the edge of the crowd, feeling like the intruder I am.
“Sloane?”
A deep, familiar voice calls my name.
