As we cross the path that leads us back toward his car, I decide to break the ice.

“We need to talk about something,” I say. “Something very important.”

He stops walking and looks at me. “What is it?”

“It’s about you and me, us...”

“I’m listening.”

“What happened between us in high school, Dean?” I leave the ‘slowly ease into the conversation’ approach lodged in my throat. “I mean, you clearly feel bad about how you treated me on my birthday, but what about the other stuff? What about prom? The rumors? Why did you go so cold on me all of a sudden? Why did you willingly let us go and make me hate you like that?”

“Do you still need an actual explanation?” His face is stoic. “You know what happened, Mia. You know exactly what happened.”

“I really don’t. I need you to explain it to me.”

“Can we talk about this some other time? Outside of how I treated you on your birthday, which I admit was completely fucked up on my part, the rest of it is still painful to think about.”

“For you or me?”

“Are you being serious right now?” His expression goes cold.

“Yes. It’s important that I understand what changed. The last thing I remember before everything going south is you and me making plans for the summer and figuring out how we were going to visit each other in college.” My voice cracks because, right now, it feels like that moment was just yesterday; the memories still fresh in my mind, the pain still raw.

“Mia, please drop it.” He’s nearly glaring at me. “Let’s not do this right now.”

“Let’s not do anything right now.” I storm off, rushing away from him, but he catches me by the waist.

“I just don’t want to ruin our fucking night.” He spins me around. “Is that okay with you? We haven’t argued in a very long time, and we’ve been getting along for the most part, so can we just pretend that things are perfectly alright for a little while longer?”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s the thing. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of feeling like we have another chance at being together, but not knowing how much damage needs to be repaired first. I’m tired of feeling like I love you all over again, but not knowing if you’re going to fuck me over all over again, just because. And I’m tired of...” I stop. If I keep going, we will argue, and we probably won’t talk for a long time. “Let’s just go.”

“Mia...”

“Let’s just fucking go. I’ll let it go.” My heart hangs heavy in my chest as I say those words, and as he slips his arm around me, it takes everything in me not to push him away from me.

We walk to the car without looking at each other, and we drive the whole way home in silence. Although he doesn’t say it, I know he’s just as angry as I am. His jaw is clenched and when he glances over at me at stoplights, it’s not admiration in his eyes. It’s anger. And hurt.

When we arrive back at the condo, we keep our distance in the elevator, and when we walk inside the apartment, we quickly slip into our rehearsed lie to Eric.

“How was dinner?” Eric looks up from his sketch. “Did you finally find a place that serves weak enough alcohol? Or did you two get put out for arguing again?”

“No luck on the weak alcohol,” Dean says, taking a seat next to him on the couch. “But we shockingly didn’t argue, so that’s a plus, right?”

“It is.” He looks impressed. “See, Mia? Told you he’d grow on you and feel like a second brother in no time.”

“No, him being my brother would be kind of like incest...” I mutter under my breath.

“What’s that about insects, Mia?” Eric asks, not really wanting an answer. He’s focused on whatever drawing is in front of him.

I slip inside the kitchen and open the fridge, needing something, anything to mindlessly snack on, so I won’t think too much.

“What are you working on?” Deans asks Eric.

“A new design idea for a back tat. I have a big job tomorrow.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Can’t say. It’s one of my non-disclosure agreement people.”

“Do I fall under that category?” Dean grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns on the TV.

“You fall under the people-who-think-they-never-have-to-pay category.” Eric rolls his eyes, laughing and the two of them start talking about the non-disclosure clients anyway, just not revealing the names.

Watching them interact and listening to how they joke with each other, I can easily imagine how it was before I moved in.

Sighing, I grab a beer, chips, and a full jar of salsa, and head to my room.

“Whoa, Mia, wait up.” Eric’s voice makes me turn around. “What the hell is up with you? Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like someone killed your dog.”

“Maybe someone did.”

He rolls his eyes. “It was a metaphor. You hate dogs.”

“I was joking,” I say, purposely avoiding looking over at Dean. “Nothing’s wrong, just tired, I guess.”

“You sure?”

NO. “Yep, perfectly sure.”

“Okay,” he shrugs. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” I say, and force myself to say it to Dean, too, but I still don’t make eye contact. I go straight to my room and turn on the TV, turning the volume up as high as it can go. And then, just as extra precaution, I cry into my pillow.

I can’t help it.

***

When I’m all out of tears and salsa, hours later, I lie in bed, still unable to fall asleep. My mind is racing a mile a minute, incapable of thinking about anything else besides my issues with Dean.

I grab my Kindle, hoping that reading will help me pass the time, but when I pick it up from my night stand, the battery’s dead. With my charger at the gallery, I try to think of something else I could do to lull me to sleep, but I come up with nothing.

Instead, I get up and go to the kitchen, grabbing leftovers from yesterday’s breakfast. I warm them in the microwave and sit in front of the living room TV, keeping the volume very low, so it won’t wake Dean and Eric.

I stop at a marathon of Court TV and make a mental note to ask Eric to add the deluxe cable package to my bedroom, too.

When I finish eating the warmed biscuits, I curl up onto the couch and cover myself with a blanket. I was expecting the court cases to be boring, but they’re actually quite entertaining and they’re having the counter-effect of what I was hoping for.

Did this guy really get away with murder?

“What are you doing up?” Dean’s voice startles me an hour later.

I don’t answer.

“Mia?”

“I can’t sleep.” I relent, but I don’t look up at him.

“Are you still upset with me about earlier?”

“Nope, I just have a lot on my mind,” I lie.  I’m certain he knows there’s really only one thing on my mind.

He picks up the remote and turns the TV off. Then he walks around in front of the couch and extends his hand to me.

I take it and he pulls me up, leading me to his room. He pushes the door shut and moves me over to his bed.

“Lay down,” he says.

I do, and he climbs in behind me, hugging me closely. I know this is a terrible idea with Eric down the hall, but as soon as his arm wraps around me, I feel better.

“Mia...” he whispers. “We can talk about whatever you want to talk about tomorrow, okay?”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.” He kisses me. “It’s a promise.”

“Can I ask you one thing tonight, though?”

“Only if I don’t guess what it is.”

“Okay, try.”

He rolls me over so I’m facing him, and through the dark, I can faintly make out his eyes.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I still love you and I always have, regardless of all these years...” He rubs his hand along my back. “Was that your question?”

I nod, feeling somewhat better about tomorrow. “Yes. Thank you.” I smile and as he flips me back over, I whisper, “I still love you, too...”

Chapter 30