Bare feet appeared in my line of sight. I simply stared at them, swallowing around the hard lump in my throat. I would rather go back to the way things were. At least we were happy. The tension, avoidance, but mostly the silence felt like a death sentence to our friendship.
“Stay, Sammy.” Elijah’s voice was soft. Hesitant in a way I rarely heard from him. “Please.”
My fingers stilled on the zipper. Something in his tone made me look up, really look, for the first time in days.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His hair, usually artfully tousled, just looked messy. Like he’d been running his hands through it. A lot.
“I know I’ve been making things weird,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t mean to. I just had to work some stuff out in my head.”
Outside, wind rattled the windows, snow piling against the glass in thick drifts. The radiator clicked and hummed, filling the silence between us.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Elijah’s jaw tightened. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in a way that looked more defensive than casual. “Because you would’ve asked why.”
“And?”
“And you heard the reason. In the coffee shop. In front of everyone.” His laugh was hollow. “Not exactly how I wanted you to find out.”
“Elijah—”
“Look, I know it’s probably not mutual.” He held up a hand, cutting me off. “And that’s fine. We can keep things exactly how they are. Friends. Roommates. Nothing has to change.” A forced smile stretched across his face. “I promise it won’t get awkward. I’ve had five years of practice keeping this to myself. Few more decades should be a breeze.”
My heart stopped. Restarted. Stuttered like a broken engine.
“We can keep things as friends,” he added. “Nothing has to change. I promise it won’t get awkward. I just…I needed you to know the truth.”
It struck me then, hard as a punch to the chest. Elijah genuinely believed this feeling wasn’t mutual. That he’d been carrying this weight alone, convinced I didn’t feel the same way.
Five years. Five years of pining and pretending and pushing down every inappropriate thought, and he had no idea.
Maybe because you never told him.
“How long?” My voice came out rough. “How long has it been over?” Because I honestly couldn’t remember. Things had been too tense in the coffee shop that things were a bit fuzzy.
“Three weeks.” Something flickered across his face. Conflict, maybe. Uncertainty. “Ended it the day after New Year’s. He just couldn’t accept it.”
I hadn’t said a word. Above everything else, Elijah was my best friend, and I wasn’t there for him through the breakup.
Walking past him to the kitchen, I grabbed the whole damn bottle of whiskey from the cabinet above the fridge. The good stuff we saved for special occasions or particularly terrible days. This qualified as both. Poured two generous glasses, the amber liquid catching the warm light from the overhead fixtures.
Back in the living room, I handed him one and settled onto the couch. After a moment, he sat beside me. Not touching, but close.
We drank in silence. Snow continued falling outside, muffling the city sounds until our apartment felt like a cocoon. The whiskey burned going down, spreading heat through my chest.
The cruise tickets weighed heavy in my thoughts. A romantic Valentine’s getaway that I’d been too chicken to mention because asking Elijah felt like confessing something I wasn’t ready to admit. Now here we were, him having already confessed, and I was still sitting on my grandmother’s well-intentioned gift like a coward.
Telling him seemed impossible. Not telling him seemed worse.
As I sat there lost in thought, Elijah stood and disappeared into the kitchen. I listened more than watched him walk away. I’d dreamed of this for five years, of Elijah being mine, but the quiet way he moved, reserved in a way I’d never seen, felt bone-deep wrong.
He returned holding a cream-colored envelope that made my stomach drop straight through the floor. Why in the hell did he have it?
“You dropped this.” He sat back down, closer this time. “In the hallway outside the bathroom. Found it two days ago.”
Crap. That’s when I’d been doing laundry. I remember pulling the ticket from where I’d tucked it away, then… I honestly couldn’t remember. While Elijah had been gone, I’d been cleaning, dancing, and just being my weird self. And apparently losing cruise tickets.
“A cruise?” His eyebrow arched. “Valentine’s weekend?”
