“Come on, Charlie Girl.”
I feel untethered—a kite that has escaped its string. The world is hazy as he opens the door for me, waiting for me to climb inside the cab, but I pause, looking back at the house. Barrett watches silently.
“You did the right thing,” he whispers, sadness edging into his voice.
“I know,” I whisper. “But it still hurts.” I suck in a breath, my lungs aching. I look over at him just in time tocatch his understanding nod. “Do you think Dillon really called her a bad mother?”
Barrett rolls his lips between his teeth. “I think he might have said a lot worse than that.”
“You know, don’t you?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe. Why? What do you wanna know?”
My heart flutters wildly. “I want to know everything.”
“I thought we had a deal.” A hint of mischief flickers through his eyes at the reminder. “I’m not supposed to talk to you about him, or vice versa.”
I stare at him, mouth set into a line as I repeat firmly, “I want to know everything.”
Chapter 22
Charlie
“Charlie!” one of my old neighbors greets, walking out of the apartment building just as I’m walking in. “I haven’t seen you around in months! Where’ve you been?”
“Hi, Erin.” I smile politely, pausing just outside the door. “I actually moved out.”
She blinks, surprised. “You did? But Dillon…” I can see the moment it lands for her, awkwardness flashing across her face. “Oh.”
“Yep.”
Erin gives me a tight, uncomfortable smile, but there’s genuine remorse there, too. “I’m sorry to hear that. You guys were a nice couple.”
“Yeah,” I say thoughtfully. “We were.”
She steps out, holding the door open for me to enter. Her curiosity blazes through her eyes, but she’s polite enough not to ask the question that’s trembling on her lips. “I’ll see you later!”
I walk away, heading for the elevator, my mind firmly on the conversation I had with Barrett last night, and what he’d said about Dillon’s run-in with my mother.
It turns out that game nights aren’t just for drinking beer and shooting each other, and the guys end up swapping more stories than teenage girls at a sleepover.
Barrett shared that, according to Dillon’s version of events, my mother had barely gotten a word in while he told her a few home truths. A switch had been flippedinside me, knowing he had defended me without ever expecting me to know about it.
I spent our entire relationship doing my damndest to keep him away from my parents, horrified and ashamed at the idea of him witnessing how they treated me. And then he did the one thing I wished he had done that night with Bliss…But I never imagined him defending me to my mother.
A wave of déjà vu swells as I walk down the hallway to our apartment. It’s been over half a year since that day, and I’m not sure if it’s the distance of time or something else, but the hurt of the memory doesn’t seem to have such a tight hold on me anymore.
It happened—the words Bliss said, and the ones Dillon then spewed at me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget them, or look at him quite the same, but he’s not the same person he was back then. And now…
Now, the hurt has faded enough to give me the clarity to hear him out.
I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, coming here, and I don’t even know what I’m going to say. But then my knuckles are rapping against the door, my anxiety flaring.
I’m about to run back to the elevator when the door opens and Dillon’s standing there, wearing sweats and a short-sleeved shirt. His mouth drops open as he takes me in, his eyes wide. “Charlie?” He’s not blinking, like he thinks I might disappear if he does.
“Hi.” I give an awkward little wave, and he startles, looking around as if he’s checking to see if I’m alone or not, making me think his head went back to the last time I was here, too.
“I was hoping we could talk,” I say carefully, watching every twitch of his expression—excitement, wariness,resignation, and hope, all warring for dominance. His throat bobs on a swallow as he steps back, clinging to the door as he gestures me inside.
