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There’s an irritation to my dad’s voice that isn’t usually there. He fiddles with his silverware anxiously before swirling his Americano around in the glass mug and swigging it down in one go.

“It’s not because of—”

“It is, and you know it,” he snaps, but I let it roll off me.

I have a date tonight. And just the thought of it is enough to have me spiraling into a panic only Adam Reiner seems able to pull me from—despite the tension that’s only festered lately, heavier now as I’m back at Waterfell for junior year.

“It’s one date, Ben. Why don’t you ask Rhys to bring a girl and make it a double date?”

I’d thought about it, several times, but hadn’t worked up the nerve. Rhys didn’t know about her, my first girlfriend—and letting him in on why I needed a buffer on this damn date with a girl from my class would only lead to more questions than I could answer.

“I might,” I say, but my dad is distracted again. Normally, this would irritate me, but he seems . . . upset.

He looks over my shoulder again just as a figure moves into my periphery.

It’s Anna Koteskiy, pulling her strawberry blond hair from beneath the neck of the deep blue overcoat she’s just shrugged on. My dad runs his eyes over her like he’s checking her over, as if she’s just escaped certain death.

“Bennett, Adam,” she greets us both. “Surprised to see you here.”

“Are you all right?”

My dad’s voice is soft but adamant. I quietly sink back, sipping my water.

“Fine,” she says, smiling at me again before turning slightly narrowed eyes to him. “I take it Max let you know what I was doing today.”

“Possibly,” he mutters. “I take it you’re okay, then?”

“No need for you to beat anyone up this time.” She smiles, but there’s a softness as she rests her hand on my dad’s shoulder, close to his neck.

A long moment of silence draws out while they seem to have an entire conversation with each other, lost in memories of their youth.

“I’m okay,” she offers quietly.

My dad closes his eyes and huffs a quick heavy breath. “Good.”

“Good to see you both,” she says, before the click of her heels on the marble flooring signal her departure.

My dad’s eyes follow her, a desperation in the way he watches her. It’s not the first time I’ve clocked it—but it’s the most blatant I’ve seen it. As I get older, I can spot the aching familiarity all too well.

My dad looks . . . tired, I realize. Like he’s lived a thousand lives and never had one where he was truly happy. There’s an ache in my heart again as I watch him more closely.

Mirrors. Doomed to love from afar.

• • •

“He’s not usually late,” I stammer, fidgeting a little in the booth.

It was the only seating option they had, but it puts Hannah too close to me, especially for the first date.

The restaurant is crowded and loud, cacophonous noise echoing off the high ceilings. I check my watch again—fifteen minutes late. Goddamn it, Rhys.

I grab my phone to text him, beyond the point of being relatively polite, before a soft, low voice speaks.

“I hate being late.” The words seem to carry over the other noise, the soft, low voice igniting goose bumps across my exposed forearms.

Throat dry, I manage the courage to look up—

—only to have the wind knocked out of me by the sight of my best friend ushering Paloma Blake into our booth.