I’d spent the last five days replaying what happened, where it went wrong, what I should have done, why there was no reason on earth for her to forgive me.

Everything had changed, and our relationship—if we still had one—would never be like it was. I didn’t think I could miss something so much, care about anything enough, to not be able to sleep or work or focus without it. Without her. I’d fucked it up and I’d fucked it up good. Impressive.

But I didn’t want her to think I was just another frog and that she was wrong to trust herself. That wasn’t fair. She went into this hoping I could help her move past the damage other men had done. It was supposed to be a lesson in getting what she wanted on her terms, instead of being treated like shit on someone else’s.

I’m not sure when things changed for me. When it became as much for me as it was for her, to watch her find out she deserved so much more than she’d ever gotten.

Instead, I’d blown it all into itty-bitty pieces in a fit of frustration and stupidity, of not wanting things to change and thinking I could manhandle them back to what they were. I knew better than to trust my instincts and let myself react so quickly. I knew better, and I’d done it anyway. Because it was something I couldn’t control. Not now, not ever.

So I’d tell her how sorry I was, and I’d tell her how amazing she was, and I’d say goodbye. If she gave me the chance.

I stood as soon as she walked in, suddenly acting like a thirteen-year-old boy at a school dance. I forced myself to stay still even though my whole body fought me on it. There wasn’t a single part of her I didn’t miss. Not one.

Her hair was up the way I like it—made it easier to get to her neck. That wasn’t going to happen anymore, though.

She walked over slowly, cautiously, and then pointed to the coffee cup in front of her chair. “That for me?”

“Yeah.” I’d been replacing it every fifteen minutes so it would be hot when, and if, she ever came.

She came. She was here.

And I’d forgotten all the things I wanted to say.

We sat down and were silent for a few minutes. This was stupid. After I fucked something up, I was usually pretty good about making things right, so why was this so hard? Because it was going to take words, not cash.

Determined to say something, even if it wasn’t what I’d planned, I leaned forward and rested my forearms on my thighs. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Because I didn’t deserve it. “I know what I did—it’s on repeat in my mind. All the ways I screwed up. I didn’t mean to hurt you but I did, so…”

I took a breath. “I think you’re fucking incredible, Lane. No, that’s not right. You are fucking incredible, no thought necessary. The guy you choose—Kevin or somebody else”—please, let it be someone else—“will be the luckiest man alive. If he forgets that, if he hurts you, walk away. Run away. Whatever you have to do. Don’t stay there because you think he’s going to change because he’s not. People can’t change.”

“Yes, they can. People change all the time.”

I wasn’t going to argue with her or discuss how wrong she was, because I’d lost the right to be her friend. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I’m really sorry.” I stood up when I ran out of ways to apologize. “Just…try not to pick any more frogs.”

She grabbed the bottom of my shirt as I moved to leave. “We talk about a lot of things but always avoid the important stuff. Why?”

I shook my head, knowing the answer but not knowing how to say it. It was too hard, too close, too late. If I let her all the way in… I couldn’t let her all the way in.

“What were you trying to prove?” she asked.

“I didn’t want you to go back to him. I don’t want you to get hurt again and I know he’ll do it. So I guess… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was trying to protect you. To remind you that you were happier without him. Didn’t work out so well, though.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” she said, letting go of my shirt. “Kevin came by because he wanted to get back together. His wife dumped him, and he needed an idiot to listen to him whine and then screw him, so he could forget about it for a while.”

I closed my eyes. She could screw whoever she wanted for whatever reason she wanted. The sex meant nothing to me. But she meant everything to me.

I know sex is just sex. Two bodies combining for a little while, feeling good, and then splitting apart. Except for her and me. For us, it was better than that—our bodies matched, we matched.

No, we used to match.

“But I’m not an idiot.” She sighed. “Well, okay sometimes I’m an idiot. But I’m not his idiot anymore. So I told him to go. Nothing happened. I’m proof people can change, Carson. I’m never going back to the person I was. So sit down and talk to me.”

I slowly went back to my seat and waited for her to tell me what would happen next.

“You scared me.”

“I know. If I could do it over again—”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t ever do it again.”

I looked at her, unsure of what that meant.

“After Kevin broke up with me, I swore I’d never give anyone a second chance, but I’m going to give you one. Is that a bad decision?”

“No.” But a second later, I wasn’t sure ‘no’ was the right answer. I would never screw things up this way again, but I’d screw them up some other way. Maybe a worse one. It was in my DNA to fuck up everything good. But I wanted it to be true and I would try. Really fucking hard.

“I shouldn’t have assumed you were with him again.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but I shouldn’t have let you believe it. I could’ve told you right then, but I thought I needed space. I still do. Not much—I want to keep hanging out if you do, but not as often, especially not overnight. Because…it’s messing with my head.”

I knew the feeling. “I can do less often.” I nodded even though I didn’t want to. “I’m really sorry, Lane.”

“You’re a total liar,” she said with a small grin. “You apologize all the time.”

“Just to you. And only when I mean it.”

“You make me happy for a bunch of reasons, not just the sex. You know that, right?”

Oh shit. I couldn’t remember if I knew that or not. All I could focus on was how much I didn’t want to know that. I should get out of this while I still could, use her need for space as the beginning of a larger one. So she’d avoid the damage I could do to her.

“That’s the biggest problem,” she said.

No, it wasn’t. I was the biggest problem. She was wrong to give me a second chance. But if I told her, I’d have to walk away now and I couldn’t do that. Because I was weak and stupid and selfish, just like my father. The only difference between him and me was that I hadn’t hit Lane, I hadn’t made her feel worthless. But I would—it was inevitable. Because I was weak and stupid and selfish.