He swallows. “For both of us.”
I shake my head, my eyes finding his. “You don’t get to rewrite it.”
“I’m not trying to. I just—” He exhales. “I miss you. Even when I’m trying not to and even when you’re treating me like you could murder me.”
I look away from him. “You should try harder.”
My voice cracks on the last word.
And he heard it.
The lights flicker again, casting our faces in pale, uneven glow. I can see the shadow of his jaw, the way his fingers flex against his knee like he wants to reach for me.
I stay quiet and so does he.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. The silence isn’t comfortable, but it’s not hostile either. It was the kind that held too much history to be empty.
He shifts. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.”
I don’t answer him right away. I swallow. Some nights that’s all I think about. But I don’t give him that. “Sometimes,” I say with a noncommittal shrug.
“And?” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“And?” I reply, my voice thick with sarcasm. I look at him, “I don’t let myself stay there long.”
He nods. “I still remember the way you used to warm up in college,” he says, looking out past me into the wall of the elevator. “That bounce on your toes. The way you tap the crossbar twice before kickoff. You still do it.”
I blink. “You remembered?”
“I remember everything.”
I turn away, heart thudding.Don’t believe him, don’t play into his game.
The elevator creaks again, louder this time. Then—mercifully—the lights steady. A soft chime rings out and the floor numbers blink back to life. The elevator begins the slow descent to the bottom floor, thankfully.
We both stand, instinctively brushing off our clothes like we haven’t been sitting in memories.
The doors slide open.
I step out first, box in hand, and my spine straight.
He follows a beat after. I can feel him behind me.
The air between us feels different now, charged, unfinished and waiting.
I walk quickly down the hallway to where I know our friends are waiting for us. I throw open the door to Dex’s new apartment. I immediately notice that it’s got an open floor plan like August’s. High ceiling and what looks like a little patio off the kitchen.
“Nice place, Dex,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and even.
“Did you two sneak off for a quickie or something?” Danny teases us as he looks at me and where August must be standing behind me.
“No,” I say curtly.
“They couldn’t have. He’s alive. I’m pretty sure that she would have killed him, not fucked him,” Jase, my goalie coach, drawls out in his English accent.
I force a smile, but I can tell it falls flat.
“Are you okay?” Mac asks, coming over to me. She places a comforting hand on my shoulder. Her blue eyes study mine.
