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“No, thanks.” He speaks around a mouth full of pancakes.

I wait until he swallows, finishes his orange juice and settles back into his chair. “How is she?”

His shoulders lift nearly to his ears. “Okay, I guess. She says she’s okay, and she looks all right to me. But she won’t tell me what happened, andyouwon’t tell me what happened, so why am I the errand boy between the two of you?”

“Errand boy? What do you mean?”

“Every time I see her, she asks about you.”

“She does?” Hope plays games with my heart, and it bounces around my chest tripping on itself.

“Yes.” Tommy pushes his dish away. “I wish you two would figure out whatever it is that’s broken and fix it already. I like both of you better when you are with each other.”

I cross my arms on the table, scratch at the stubble on my face. “I like myself better when I’m with her too.”

“See what I’m talking about?” He gets up and pushes his chair back with more force than necessary. He’s clearly annoyed. “She told me the exact same thing.”

“She did?” My heart is doing somersaults now.

“I don’t get it. You two are idiots. You know what? I’m going to her building right now and telling her that to her face. You’re an idiot, and she’s an idiot. And I’m the idiot in the middle.”

“She asked me to give her time, Tommy. You know that.”

“The thing about time, big brother, is that you can never get back the time you wasted.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

I pace my room,shaking my hands and keeping an eye on my laptop screen. Waiting for his link to go live. If I keep this pace much longer, I’ll wear down a path on the floor.

The moment his name shows in bold, I jump on the bed. I nearly drop the laptop on the floor in my eagerness to get to him before someone else does. I hit the link to dial him and put my earbuds in. He answers on the first ring.

“Becca? Is that you?”

It’s so strange to hear him say my name this way that I’m momentarily frozen.

“Becca, talk to me, please.”

I swallow the lump taking residence in my throat. “Hi. Yes, it’s me.”

“God, Becca.” The sound of a loud breath comes through the connection. “You asked me to give you time, and I have, but it’s been weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I had—have a lot of crap to work on. I’ve been busy. But that’s not the reason I ghosted you.”

“No, it’s not.” He sounds sad.

“I had a lot to think about. That day—your birthday was both the best and worst day of my life. It was the highest high and the lowest low. I was so happy, and then everything came crashing down.” I stop, breathe, blink away the tears. Dylan’s rhythmic tapping tells me he’s still listening. “You finding out everything was my worst nightmare. And then the stuff I told you about Theodore … I was sure you’d hate me or call the cops on me. God. I expected the police to come find me for a week.”

“I would never. My only regret is not being able to kill him myself.” There’s such a contained rage in his voice it surprises me.

I never imagined Dylan as a violent man.

I lick my dry lips. “I want to thank you for everything you did for me. For listening and guiding and pushing me when I didn’t want to see or do what I needed to do to free myself from the self-imposed prison I created.”

“You don’t have to thank me. How have you been? Tommy said you’re okay, and you said you needed time. But not being able to see you and talk to you …”

“It’s been hard for me too. But I needed this time to figure myself out.”

“I miss you, Becca.”