Killian returned a minute later, his cheek smudged with a lipstick print that hadn’t been there earlier.
He retook his seat, seemingly oblivious to the tension. “What’d I miss?”
I didn’t stay for much longer at guys’ night. My conversation with Xavier had put a damper on the evening, which wasn’t doing what I’d needed it to do anyway.
I thought hanging out with my friends and drinking the nightaway would make me feel better, but it only made me feel worse. Once the brunt of the alcohol wore off, I was left feeling nauseous and hollow.
I’d slapped a temporary Band-Aid on a wound that was too deep to heal, and I had nothing except a nasty impending hangover to show for it.
I stumbled out of my Uber and up the stairs to my house. I jammed my key into the front door after several tries. The world swung sideways, and I knew there was no way I’d make it upstairs in my current condition.
I somehow made it into the kitchen and chugged a glass of water instead. Once I was done, I leaned forward and propped my forearms on the marble island. I bowed my head, trying to breathe through the vise strangling my lungs.
The brownstone’s silence made it easy forherto invade my thoughts again.
She was in the same city. If I took a cab, I could be at her place in half an hour. I could call her and hear her voice. I could—
Stop.
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a long, measured breath through my nose. I told myself I was done, and I meant it.
Maya had made her feelings clear years ago. I was the idiot who’d refused to give up hope, but no more. It was time to let go.
The haze in my head gradually cleared. The room no longer spun every time I moved, and I was able to straighten without a vicious hammer slamming against my skull.
But that hole in my chest? It was still there, and I had a sinking feeling it’dstaythere for as long as Maya held a piece of my heart.
The doorbell rang. The sudden noise made me flinch, but I stayed put. It was probably a needy neighbor or a kid playing a prank. I wasn’t in the mood or condition to deal with either.
But whoever was at the door refused to go away. Theyalternated between knocking and ringing the bell until they wore me down with sheer annoyance.
I bit out a string of French curses as I stormed into the living room. I yanked open the front door, ready to give the asshole a piece of my mind, but my words died a swift death when I saw who was standing on the front step.
Maya’s hand was poised for another knock. She lowered it when I opened the door, and we stared at each other, our breaths forming small white puffs in the icy air. Her eyes were glossy in the moonlight, almost like she’d been crying.
A sliver of awareness knifed through my numb stupor.
Maya washere. At my house. On a Friday night.
Why?
I soaked her in hungrily despite myself. I hadn’t seen her in weeks, and her appearance hit me like a bolt of lightning.
Her hair was loose, her face makeup-free. She was wearing jeans and the sweatshirt I’d given her in Vermont. Her gold birthday locket gleamed around her neck, but my attention snagged on the envelope in her hands.
My stomach plummeted.It can’t be.
The paper was worn with time, but I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.
It was mine.
And inside that envelope was my biggest regret, the one thing I wished I could take back—the letter I wrote to her in boarding school.
CHAPTER 29
Maya
“HI,” I SAID, MY VOICE SMALL. “CAN I COME IN?”
