I remember everything . . . The boathouse. The summer air. The way his hands used to hold me like he was afraid I’d vanish.
I should be disgusted by him now. But for some reason, I’m not.
I swallow hard. “Of course, I do,” I whisper, forcing the words out. “But that means nothing now.”
He leans closer, head tilting, as he watches me with those eyes . . . those relentless, knowing eyes.
“I was seventeen. I’m not the same girl.”
“Yeah, you are.” Lorenzo’s gaze sharpens. “You’re still you.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts. “I’m not.”
He steps closer again, leaving no space. His hand finally cups my jaw. His fingers are warm, firm, and not at all gentle.
I go still.
My entire body vibrates with a yes that I don’t want to feel.
His thumb drags lightly along my cheekbone, slow and possessive.
“You pull away like you’re scared of me.”
“I am scared,” I admit, hating myself for it. “Because you’re the boy I once loved and now . . .”
His jaw flexes. “And now that boy is dead.” The words are blunt. Final.
My throat tightens. “Is he?”
Lorenzo’s eyes flash. Something raw pushes up behind them, then gets shoved back down.
His voice comes out rough. “Don’t.”
“Why?” I ask, the question spilling out. “Why do you look at me like I ruined you when you’re the one—”
His hand tightens slightly on my jaw, not hurting but a warning. “Because you left.”
The words hit.
Again.
Always that.
My voice cracks. “You don’t know what I—what they did—what they told me—I thought—”
“I don’t care what they told you. I care what you did.”
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. He’s so close I can feel his breath. His mouth hovers near mine, just a fraction away. I can’t tell if he’s going to kiss me or devour me.
My body leans in without permission.
My mind screams . . .no.
I jerk back like I’ve touched a live wire, and his hand falls from my face.
There is a beat of silence.
I wrap my arms around myself.
