"Thank God."
"She even has a beau." I scoffed at my own word choice. "He's good to her."
"I'm glad she's alright. She's a good woman."
"The best." I pushed off the counter, needing distance. "She and Elena both have their lives together now. Elena found her family, on her father's side. They took me in too, gave me a job at one of their clubs. It's good money, safe environment."
"But?"
I hated that he could still read me.
"But I'm just someone on the outside, really." I moved to the window, staring at the street below. "Like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's life. Elena's family is good to me, they try to include me in things, but I'm not actually part of it."
"They care about you."
"I know. That almost makes it worse." I traced a finger along the window frame. "I feel like an imposter sometimes. The wild card, the chaotic friend they keep around because Elena loves me."
"That's not true."
I turned to look at him. "Isn't it? I'm the one who shows up hungover to brunch. Who makes inappropriate jokes at family dinners. Who can't seem to get my life together while everyone around me is building empires and falling in love."
Eric moved closer, stopping just within arm's reach. "If anything, I always thought your energy brought life into everything."
"My chaos, you mean."
"Your spirit." His eyes held mine. "You were the one who picked people up when they were down. Who spoke up when everyone else stayed quiet. Who stood your ground and didn't back down from anyone or anything."
My breath caught. I wanted to be mad at him, to yell at him to get out, to leave.
To stop making me feel things for him all over again.
"That's not chaos, Ivy. That's courage." He took another step. "That's passion and loyalty and fire. Everything I wasn't brave enough to fight for."
"Eric—"
"It's why I fell for you." His voice dropped low. "You were so full of life. Everything felt brighter when you were around. Morereal. Like I could finally breathe after spending my whole life holding it in."
The air between us thickened. I should've stepped back, should've kept the distance, should've remembered the hurt.
But my body remembered other things. His hands in my hair. His mouth on my skin. The way he used to look at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
"You left," I whispered.
"I know."
"You broke me."
"I know." He reached up slowly, giving me time to pull away. His palm cupped my cheek, rough and warm. "I'd take it back if I could. Every day since, I'd take it back."
I closed my eyes against the sting of tears. "You can't just show up and?—"
"I know that too."
His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and I shivered. Four years hadn't dulled the way my body responded to him. Four years of anger and hurt and missing him, and one touch undid all of it.
I should've slapped his hand away. Called him out for everything. Berated him.
But I couldn't.
