Page 63 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

Broken logic. At twenty-six it felt airtight.

I turned toward the door.

It wasn't the words. It wasn't even the lie. It was the turning.

“Andrew.”

Her voice, small behind me. Not angry yet. Just trying tounderstand.

I never turned back or gave her the chance to ask the questions she deserved answers to.

My hand closed around the doorknob, metal cold under my palm. The door opened, hallway air pushing in against my neck, and I stepped through it.

Left her standing in a kitchen that still smelled like dinner she'd made for me.

The door shut behind me.

That sound—small and mechanical and final—is the one I hear in my sleep.

I blink.

The Strip comes back into view. Heat rises off the pavement. The fountains still running behind me. Traffic humming past like nothing in the world just cracked open in my chest.

My hands are empty.

I circle back toward the building.

The kitchen is empty when I get back. Ethan and Liam have cleared out. Someone left a glass of water at Riley's usual spot. Everything looks normal but it isn't.

I go down the hall and stop outside her door.

My hand comes up. I hold it there before I knock. I want to know exactly what I'm going to say before she opens the door.

I knock.

Silence. The soft sound of feet.

The latch clicks.

She opens the door.

She looks exactly the way she looked in that kitchen all those years ago: like she already ran the worst-case numbers and decided to stand here anyway.

“I'm not leaving,” I say.

She goes still. “You said that earlier.”

“I want you to know that before anything else. Before we talk about any of it.” I hold her eyes. “I left you once. I know what that cost you. I'm not doing it again.”

“Andrew—”

“I'm not done.” My jaw is tight. I keep my voice level. “Whatever you need from me—space, time, you want me to sleep on the couch for a month, you want me to clear out of the living room when you come through—tell me and I'll do it. You set the distance. I'll stay behind it. But I am not going to disappear. Space isn't the same as gone. You can have as much of the first as you need. I'm done with the second.”

She's looking at me.

Her eyes are red at the edges still. Her hand rests on the door frame, fingers loose against the wood. My hand would cover hers exactly. I haven’t forgotten how that feels.

“I'm done leaving,” I say. “That's all. You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to hear it.”