“Hmm.” The mattress shifts as she settles beside me.
Silence stretches between us, elastic with unspoken concerns. My reflection in the mirror across the room looks small, uncertain. Does she see weakness where I’m trying to find strength?
“I understand wanting to give it another go,” she finally says, each word carefully chosen. “Just be careful, okay? Take it slow.”
“I am.” My head bobs emphatically. “We got coffee together already, and we’ve been seeing each other at the rink.”
Her gaze holds mine, steady and serious. “If you think he’s worth giving a second chance, I believe it too. I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you.” Tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying releases with my exhale, shoulders dropping from their defensive position.
“Does anyone else know?”
“Maya, but I haven’t told anyone else.” The rug’s pattern becomes fascinating. “I’ve been worried about how it looks. You know, like I’m weak and going back to an abusive ex-boyfriend.”
“Life isn’t black and white. Sometimes a person is an asshole because they have good intentions and they just don’t know how to put them into action. But also...”
“It could be the other thing,” I finish, the possibility sitting heavy between us.
“You know it’s my job to worry about that. As your friend, I have to make sure you don’t walk blindly into the same shitty situation you left behind.”
“I know.” Gratitude warms my chest. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how tonight goes. I do want your feedback... and Flick’s and Alexis’s too.”
“What does Jemma think?”
Air catches in my throat. Hannah’s only met my twin a handful of times, but twin bonds are obvious even to casual observers. “I haven’t told her. She would freak out.”
“Ah. Well, if you and Oliver do turn into something, you’ll have to tell her eventually.”
“I know. I just don’t know how to convince her that this time is different.”
“Maybe it’s not your job to convince her of anything. It’s your job to live your life. If you’re happy, there’s no arguing that. She’ll see it and probably come around eventually. If she doesn’t...” Her shoulders lift and fall.
The simplicity of her words belies the complexity of twin dynamics. Jemma isn’t someone I can hold at arm’s length over a disagreement. We shared a womb, share pieces of soul that can’t be divided by disapproval.
“Come on.” Hannah springs to standing with renewed energy. “Let’s make you sexy... sexier,” she corrects with a grin.
Laughter bubbles up, carrying with it the giddy anticipation of possibility.
Ten years. A decade since Oliver first walked into my line of sight and rearranged my molecular structure. Through all the pain, the leaving, the careful reconstruction of my life without him, this feeling persists—butterflies awakening from chrysalis at the mere thought of his presence.
Even if Jemma can’t understand, even if no one can, this means something profound. I’d be a fool to not at least step through this doorway and see what waits on the other side.
Chapter Sixteen
Oliver
I drum my fingers against the beer bottle, the condensation cold and slick against my skin. The rhythm matches the pounding in my chest—one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. Jeff and Niall are deep in conversation about some action movie, their voices rising and falling with enthusiasm, but the words float past me like static. Something about explosions. A car chase. I catch fragments—“completely unrealistic” and “but the cinematography”—before they dissolve into the general din of the pizzeria.
My phone burns a hole in my pocket. I pull it out, the screen lighting up to show eight forty-seven p.m. Forty minutes. Forty minutes since I texted Devin telling her we were here. The simple message stares back at me from our conversation thread:At Portsmouth Pizzeria with the team. Hope you can make it.Read at eight ten p.m.
The beer bottle is halfway to my lips when I set it downagain, untouched. My stomach churns with something that has nothing to do with hunger. Did she change her mind?
“You okay?” Sophie’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. She leans closer, dropping her tone so the others won’t hear.
“Yeah.” The lie comes automatically as I take a swig of beer, the bitter taste doing nothing to settle my nerves. “Just glad I’m not being swarmed like last time.”
A group of men in their thirties occupies the corner booth, and I catch them stealing glances our way. One nudges his friend, nodding in my direction. They know who I am—I can see it in the way they lean together, debating. The familiar tension creeps up my spine, that feeling of being an animal in a zoo, but tonight it barely registers.
