He smirks. “Sure.”
I step inside, keep my bag on my shoulder, fingers curled tight around the strap. My keys are still in my hand. My watch and the bracelet Anton made me wear feel heavy all of a sudden, like ankle weights on my wrist.
“What are you doing here, Evan?”
I look around the apartment.
His gym bag’s tossed in the corner. Sneakers by the couch. Like he’s been here for hours. Waiting.
“Evan.” My voice comes out smaller than I want it to. “Why are you here?”
He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “What do you think? I came to see you. After that psycho boyfriend of yours sucker-punched me.” He touches his jaw, wincing for effect. “Nice company you’re keeping these days.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “How did you get in?”
“Spare key.” He jangles it between his fingers like a trophy. “The one I never gave back. Good thing, too, since you’ve been avoiding me.”
I’ve beenavoidinghim? He dumped me. Via text. With a ring emoji.
“Evan, you need to leave.” I keep my voice level, reasonable. The same tone I used at the bank when customers got difficult. “We broke up. You made that clear.”
His face shifts. The easy smile cracks, showing something uglier underneath.
“Yeah, about that. See, I’ve been thinking. Maybe I was too hasty.”
“Too hasty?” The words scrape out of my throat. “You called me boring. You said you didn’t see this going anywhere. Youblockedme.”
“I was stressed.” He takes a step closer. I take one back. “Work’s been hell. Sandy from Palm Springs turned out to be a total bitch. And then I realized…” Another step. “I realized I missed you.”
Sandy. So that’s her name. The woman he was cheating with while I was buying my own Valentine’s Day chocolates and pretending not to notice the lipstick on his collar that wasn’t mine.
“You missed me?” Something hot and sharp rises in my chest. “Or you missed having someone to take for granted?”
His eyebrows lift. “Wow. Okay. That’s new.” He looks me up and down, taking in my clothes, my hair. “What happened to you? You look… different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Uppity. Like you think you’re better than me now.” His voice has an edge to it I’ve never heard before. “That guy you’re screwing really got in your head, huh?”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp. “Don’t talk about him.”
“Why? You embarrassed?” Evan laughs, but it’s not a nice sound. “You should be. Guy looks like a felon. What’s he got that I don’t?”
Everything. The thought hits me so hard I almost say it out loud. Anton’s never made me feel small. Never made me apologize for existing. Never made me beg for scraps of attention like a starving dog.
But I don’t say any of that. Because Evan’s moving closer, and something in his posture makes my skin crawl.
“Look,” he says, voice going soft and reasonable. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you. But we can fix this. Six years, Mary. You can’t just throw that away.”
“You threw it away.” My voice is shaking now. “You cheated on me. For months.”
“That wasn’t—” He stops. Blinks. “How did you—? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Sandy was a mistake. You’re what’s real.”
I want to laugh. Or scream. Or both. “I’m real? I’mreal? Where was that when you forgot my birthday three years in a row? When you made me sleep on the wet spot? When you never once, in six years, made me—”
“Made you what?” His voice drops, dangerous.
I stop. Because I almost said it. Almost told him he never made me come. That I faked it every single time because it was easier than explaining what I needed. Easier than seeing that look on his face—the one that said I was asking for too much.
