Page 19

She lifts her whiskey eyes to mine, and a familiar ache blooms inside my chest. The one that reminds me just how much I used to love her. The one that says maybe a part of me still does, whether I want to or not.

I fight the urge to look away first, refusing to fold as I wait for whatever she might say next, to press the issue or make another bold declaration. But when she opens her mouth, the only thing to escape her lips is an exhale.

Her shoulders sag, and for the first time, I see it—the crack in her armor, the weight she’s been carrying etched into every line of her face.

It does something to me. Makes me want to reach out and brush my fingers along her cheekbone, cradle her face in my palm, soothe whatever inner turmoil laces through her, even while I hate myself for it.

I swallow, then hear myself say, “You’re serious about this. Me. Us .”

It’s supposed to be a question but sounds more like an accusation.

She nods, and the space between us evaporates as she steps closer, the air charged by what feels like a thousand volts of electricity.

All at once, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.

Like the depth of desire I once felt for her might somehow eclipse the pain I’m still grappling with.

That’s when the first notes drift toward us from the DJ across the room.

A gentle piano intro that makes her eyes widen slightly, recognition flickering across her face like lightning.

The desperate crooning of Lewis Capaldi trickles toward us as the first lyrics of “Someone You Loved”— our song— eat away at what’s left of my heart .

After all these years, the universe has decided to play some cosmic joke by queuing up the very melody that had once been our soundtrack—the same song whose lyrics proved to be prophetic for how I’d feel years later.

I freeze, my heart a hummingbird in my chest as I’m transported back to a time when everything was perfect. When she was perfect, and I wanted her more than my next breath.

“Seriously?” A flush paints Avery’s cheeks as she glances toward the DJ booth. “I can’t believe this is playing right now,” she whispers.

“Did you . . .” I trail off, unable to choke out the words as the chorus swells around us.

“Did I request this?” she asks, correctly guessing what I was about to say. She blinks and slowly shakes her head. “No.”

Of course she didn’t, you jackass. You haven’t taken your eyes off her since she got here.

The muscle in my cheek jumps as I remember the last time we listened to this song together. Visions of that night flicker through my head?a slow and tortuous replay I’d love nothing more than to forget.

“Do you remember?” Her voice is soft, cautious.

“Nope. Blocked it from my mind. Don’t want to remember any of it,” I say for fear of cracking under the weight of the memory.

I’d have to be fucking senile not to remember.

It was senior prom, and we snuck into her parents’ pool house while everyone went to the after-party.

I still remember the sharp scent of chlorine clinging to the spring air, the low sound of the stereo, dulling the sound of the pulse racing in my ears.

And this song?our song?trickling from the speakers.

I remember how our bodies collided in the dark.

How we kissed and laughed. The way she slowly peeled her dress off her body moments before she frantically clawed at my tux.

The way our limbs tangled sticky with sweat, and how breathless we were.

Both of us losing something precious yet gaining something even greater as we shared our firsts.

I swallow, my gaze raking over her golden curls, the soft smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, her long, graceful neck, and the lush slope of her chest. There was a time I knew every inch of her, memorized all her curves like a road map.

The way she tastes. The breathy sounds she makes in bed.

The way her skin flushes in the dark from my touch.

“It was the night we . . .” She trails off, leaving the words unsaid.

A smirk forms at the corners of my mouth when I meet her eyes once more to find her watching me. She bites her lip, blushing as the darks of her eyes widen, and my smile broadens.

For reasons I can’t fully explain, the knowledge that I still affect her sparks a quiet satisfaction deep in my chest. And for just a moment, I stop holding it all back and I allow the flood of old feelings rush in, heavy and suffocating, like a weighted blanket made of everything I once felt for her.

“It was a good night,” she continues after a moment, and I nod, because despite all the bad that came after, I can’t disagree.

With a shaky breath, she reaches out to my hand, hesitant as she brushes her fingers over mine.

The touch, though subtle, sends a tremor racing through me, and it’s like the past two and a half years never happened.

For a heartbeat, it’s as if nothing’s changed and we’ve gone back in time to before everything fell apart.

To a time when I wanted her more than life itself. When we were all that mattered.

She takes a step closer, until we’re so close I could dip my head, claim her lips with mine, and remember exactly how she tastes.

All at once it’s too close, yet not close enough. And though a tiny voice in the back of my head tells me I should step away, I plant my feet as if growing roots, lost in her voice, her accent as she whispers, “You know what else I remember about that night?”

My heart pounds a violent rhythm, and I answer on the next breath. “What?”

“How you said you loved me.” Her eyes burn into mine, swimming with emotions I can’t begin to sort through because there are too many to decipher.

“How I was never Avery Astor with you, but just plain Avery. The way you made me feel seen. Like our love could conquer anything. Like nothing could ever get in the way of us.”

Her words are a punch to the gut.

I flinch and glance away.

Because she’s right. I never gave a fuck about whether she was an Astor. It was always the least interesting thing about her. But she’s wrong about one thing. Something did get in the way of us. Her.

And that’s the problem. Even after everything, after all her claims about still loving me and wanting me back, she still won’t tell me why she did it. She still has secrets.

Nothing has changed.

Our song fades out, and the rest of the world comes rushing back into focus as the memories fade and reality comes crashing back in.

“Yeah, well, we were young and foolish,” I say, taking a step away from her and putting as much distance between us as I can manage. My gaze flickers to the exit and I turn, saying over my shoulder, “And I’m not a boy anymore.”