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“No, don’t hate him. He’s an only child.” I glance at the clock on the microwave and realize it’s time for my first class.

“BFF privileges to hate whoever I want. And being an only child does not excuse selfish behavior.” Lo checks to see how much of my breakfast I ate. “Eat more, or you’ll fall over.”

“He has no idea that he’s selfish. He’s a big teddy bear who breaks into your house, eats your food, and destroys the fridge in the process. A clueless menace.” I dutifully take a large bite so Lo will leave me in peace.

He kisses my temple. “Come find me if you need me.”

My dancers give me the third degree because I’m preoccupied during class. Lo can’t compete with a bunch of eleven-year-old girls grilling me. They’re brutal, telling me I had enough luggage under my eyes to fly to Paris. I pride myself on teaching them not only dance but snark. They’re acing it.

I trudge upstairs to unbury my work phone. It’s under a pile of my clothes from last night. I have thirty-three texts, ten missed calls, and five voicemails from an unknown number. I purposely didn’t check it before class. But it didn’t matter. The stupid phone haunted me like a wronged Victorian child.

I’m tempted to text Lo to come over and provide moral support, but it’s not Maverick. It could be some crazy person. I need my head examined because a crazy person seems less scary. What if he remembers? What do I do?

I read the texts first, and it’s him. He found me. Finally. After I spoon-fed him the biggest clue. My downy duvet provides comfort and a sanctuary as I scan them. Maverick’s mad. Big grizzly bear mad, not teddy bear mad.

This should be my cue to ignore him. I did the right thing because he hasn’t changed.

If I don’t respond, I’ll always wonder, so I pull up my silk panties and hit the call button.

“Skylar?” he answers breathlessly.

“Hi,” I say and wait.

“Hi.” There’s a long silence. “I wasn’t certain if you’d call me.”

“I work every weekend,” I say, pretending that’s the real reason it took me all day to call.

“Oh. Yeah. I saw you teach dance.”

“Hmm.” I won’t make this easy, and there’s no telling how deep he dug. If he found my page.

“Seeing you was a shock,” he says awkwardly.

After a beat, I ask, “Do you have something to say?” The distance between us could be a solar system, and my heart would still race.

“You should’ve talked to me before you left,” he mumbles.

“Why?” I sit up in bed. “Tell me how it would have been different from every other time? You created a fantasy where we could be together, but you could pass as a straight athlete. How long did you expect me to live as your cute dancer friend? Coming out was not a rainbow and roses party for me. I was taunted and shoved to the ground. Loved that. Loved being your destitute friend from the wrong side of town, being the pity friend. What could you say, Maverick? The truth wasn’t on the table. You LIED! You told me your parents knew I was going with you. You broke me.” My chest heaves as if I’d danced an entire play. Years of hurt and frustration land between us, and the silence is deafening.

“Disappearing was payback? A way to hurt me?”

“Truth: you stripped away little pieces of me every time you pretended you barely knew me or told your friends you didn’t get why I came to your games. We had to sneak around for you. You expected me to follow you everywhere when you weren’t brave enough to hold my hand. It wasn’t payback. It was self-preservation.” The quiet is painful as his breath saws over the line.

“Was it that bad?” he whispers.

“No. Worse.” I take a deep breath. “But sometimes it wasn’t. And those times gave me hope, but Maverick, I had enough self-respect not to become your doll you could play with, then shove in the closet when it suited you.” I sound strong, a miracle. I’m amazed I had the strength to leave. He was my entire world.

“I didn’t want that.” He makes a crying sound.

“I know.” Sighing, I flop onto my pillow. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”

We listen to each other breathe as the heaviness of our doomed relationship acts as an anchor between us, weighing us down so neither of us is free.

“How do I fix this? I miss you.”

A lump in my throat traps the words inside.

“Please,” Mav begs.