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Me:There’s almost no chance it would have ever worked out.

I hold my breath as I watch him typing, tears readily falling down my face now. I want to take the words back even as I type them. Why don’t I do that?

Ezra:Are you saying that because you believe it? Or because you’re scared of even trying?

I consider the question. I don’t think it’s one I can give him an answer to, but if I’m being honest…it isn’t because I don’tknowthe answer.

Me:I’m sorry about the things I said.

Me:I really am. I overstepped.

Me:But maybe it’s better this way.

The dots appear, then disappear—the pattern repeating over and over for what feels like forever before:

Ezra:If that’s what you really want. I can’t chase you if you don’t want to be caught, Dani.

I choke back a sob.

Me:I’m sorry.

His answer comes immediately.

Ezra:So am I.

I swipe out of the thread and toss my phone on the table near my wineglass, dropping my face in my hands. I’ve spent the last few days burying every emotion I had in regard to Ezra, and now it seems like the dam has finally burst, leaving me a sobbing mess.I want to believe him, I realize. I want to believe that he didn’t do the things I accused him of. Deep down, I think I might already.

But a part of me also believes what I said. That the chances of us working out with so many things weighed against us are slim to none. How could we ever make things work when his mother will always come first? When I couldn’t love him if she didn’t?

I choke on a shaky inhale.

Love?

I can’t—there’s no way that I—

But you do,a more sensible part of my brain whispers.You know you do.

I snatch my wineglass and down what’s left, pushing up from the deck chair with every intention of calling an Uber and getting back to my apartment before anyone can catch me wallowing. I can’t be around people right now. I shove my phone back in my pocket after calling a ride, wiping my eyes as best I can and hoping I can blame the redness that’s surely there on the copious amounts of wine that I’ve had.

My parents and stepparents are still laughing on the couch when I reenter the living room, but my friends are missing.

“Honey?” my mother calls, her brows furrowing as if she’s trying to suss out my emotions from just my expression. Thank God she’s already hammered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I croak. “Where are Nate and Vera?”

“Oh, I think they said something about grabbing a game from the closet. Do you want to play?”

I shake my head. “I actually think I’m going to head out. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Well, okay,” my mother says with a slight frown. “Don’t work too hard, all right?”

I give her my best impression of a smile, but it feels wrong. “I’ll try.”

I head through the kitchen toward the hall so that I can tell Nate and Vera that I’m leaving. The hallway closet where we keep the board games is open, but my friends are missing. Frowning, I move around the open door just to notice the guest bedroom door beside it is ajar, sounds coming from inside. Are they fighting again?

My hand is shoving the door open as I move to break up whatever it is they’re fussing about, barely getting two words out before I stop dead in my tracks.

“Hey, I’m gonna— What the fuck?”