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“I’m the idiot who got her pregnant.”

Just when I thought we’d finally moved beyond all of this. “If you hadn’t, Ella wouldn’t be here. And stop talking about yourself like that.”

“No, you stop. Stop fucking telling me what to do, right fucking now.” It’s a command. Harsh, but quiet.

I think I liked it better when Dean was trying not to cuss me out.

The worst part? In spite of his words, I’m not hearing anger. He sounds…desperate.

Cold seeps into my bones. Antiseptic smells invade my nose and turn my stomach. The beeping of machines and the footsteps rushing back and forth are way too loud. Somewhere ‌down the hall comes the sound of someone getting sick, and I feel like I might be, too.

“Why don’t you say what you’re really thinking, Dean?”

He looks up, eyes narrowed. “How would you know what I’m thinking?”

“Because I always know.” Most of the time, anyway. Right now, I’ve got a damn good guess. I don’t like it, though.

“Of course you do, Mike. You’ve always been the smarter one between us. Tell me what I’m thinking, then.”

“You’re thinking you got sloppy. That for one fraction of a second you forgot you were supposed to think of nothing else but your daughter every minute of every day and you let yourself be happy, and it ended in disaster.”

He opens his mouth as if he might protest. But he doesn’t.

“Which means you’re gonna crawl back into your shell and not let yourself have anything good again until she turns eighteen. Maybe not even then. That about right?”

The words are venom on my tongue. It’s true, though. I’m not actually trying to be the smartest person in the room, but about this? I know I’m right.

For all the years we’ve been tangled up together, I’ve carefully planned and saved and made sure I a strategy for my future. For if, or when, things fell apart. Silly me though, I’d begun to actually think that future would have Dean in it.

We’ll figure it out.

But we won’t be doing anything, will we?

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That sounds about right.”

“You can’t be serious.” My throat’s almost too tight to answer.

“You’re the one who said it.”

“You’re the one who thought it.” Yes, I’m hearing myself.

He presses his hands to the seat he’s sitting on. “I think that maybe it would be good to take a step back. A break. I just… I need a minute to see things clearly.”

Except I already know he will not see things clearly. Not when he’s trying so hard to win a prize for martyring himself in favor of his daughter’s happiness.

“A break. For how long?” Why am I even asking?

“I don’t know. Until… I don’t know.” He chews his lower lip. He taps his thumb against his index finger. “I can’t see anything right now beyond getting Ella home and getting some sleep. If you and I can go back to how things used to be, I think it’ll help.”

“You mean how things used to be before we were fucking?”

He’s silent but looking guilty as hell. That’s when it hits me. “I get it. Before everything. Before I started taking care of you when you woke up screaming. Before Ella. Before Billie?”

“We were best friends, once. Back when we were roommates.”

Except part of me already wanted more. Even back then. “I don’t think I can go back to that.”

Back to pretending not to watch him, back to hooking up with cheerleaders when what I really wanted was his long, lean body underneath me.