My cell burns a hole in my pocket.

It's still there.

I'm sorry.

The two words feel like a dedication.

Like everything.

My stomach is in knots. Half of me is screaming call her. The other half is screaming never speak to her again.

I check the time. Fifteen minutes until my next appointment. Fifteen minutes in my head, turning over my options.

Leighton is sitting at the counter, reading something on her Kindle. Her eyes meet mine. She raises a brow. The same thing she's done every day since my birthday.

Are you really going to sulk when you could call Iris?

You're making yourself miserable. And you're annoying miserable. Not like Ryan or Brendon. They know how to do miserable. You don't.

We've had that conversation way too many times.

Maybe I don't wear miserable as well as Ryan does.

But Ryan is the king of miserable.

Those are big shoes to fill.

I stare back.

She shrugs. "What?"

"You know what."

"I'm reading."

"You gave me a look."

"You're pissy today."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I will. Later." She slides off her stool. "I'm making coffee. You want one?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She takes a step toward the Keurig. "You could call her."

"I'm aware."

"You'd be less annoying."

"Where's the fun in that?"

She shrugs suit yourself, but there's concern in her blue-green eyes.

She still wears her eyeliner the same way Iris does. That long line. Hers is purple. Iris's is a dark brown.

It makes me think of her.

The entire shop makes me think of her.

The whole fucking world makes me think of her.

She's right.

Ryan is right.

But it's not enough to convince that other part of me, the part that doesn't trust Iris.

That hates Iris.

That hates how badly I still want to wipe her pain away.

* * *

Iris is sitting on my doorstep.

She's in that black dress, the one that's tight on her tits and loose around her hips.

I know every inch of that dress. Exactly how it feels against my hands. The smell of it—cotton mixed with her shampoo. The way it hugs her curves.

My body wakes up at the sight of her. It wants hers. That's something I understand.

My heart beats harder. My blood pumps faster. My limbs get light.

My body is a traitor.

But, fuck, it's good to see her.

She presses her palms into her thighs as she looks up at me. Her knees knock together. Then her toes. Her inner feet. Her heels. "I… I know this is crazy ex-girlfriend stuff."

"Yeah."

"I'll leave if you ask me to." She pushes herself up.

I offer my hand.

She takes it.

My body threatens to take over. To push every how can I trust her thought to the back of my head.

"I want to talk to you." Her fingers brush my palm as she pulls her hand to her side. "I want to explain."

The need in her eyes guts me.

I still want to wipe all her pain away.

And I still can't trust her.

"Can I do that?" She presses her lips together. "If you don't let me explain, I'll have to keep 'accidentally' running into you at Blue Bottle. And what if you're with some other woman? It will be awkward." She gnaws on her bottom lip. "I'll start yelling something like how could you move on so quickly? Did you ever care about me? Does she even know you're using her? Cause a big scene. Get all three of us banned from every shop on Abbot Kinney."

She still does something to me.

I hate that she does something to me.

This would be easier if I hated her. If that was the end of it. "That does sound awkward."

"And wrong, being deprived the best coffee near the shop." Her lips curl into a half smile. "Can I come in? Please? I'm running low on dignity at the moment, so I will stoop to begging."

"Yeah." I unlock the door and open it for her.

She bends to grab something from the concrete—a tiny silver gift bag—then she steps into the apartment.

I follow, closing and locking the door behind us.

The place is sparse. Empty. Not a speck of dust in sight. Cleaning is somewhere between reading and filing taxes on the list of things that might help me forget her.

It didn't work.

Nothing works.

She still owns my thoughts.

She still keeps me up all night.

I have no idea how to make it stop. Maybe this is it. Maybe I need one last taste so I can forget her.

She turns to me. Holds up the gift bag. "This, um, this was for your birthday. If you don't want it—"

"Thanks."

Her smile is sad. Weary. She looks as tired as I feel.

I take the bag, set it on the counter, move into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"

"Water."

"Sure."

"You still keep the place dry?"

I grab two glasses from the cabinet and fill them with water. "Yeah. I can't imagine having booze here."

"For Bree?"

I nod.

She smooths her dress. Rocks from one foot to another. Plays with her short hair.

I move to her. Offer her a glass.

She nods thanks and drinks with greedy sips. "Thanks. I was only waiting for an hour or two. But I didn't know how long it would be so I didn't want to hydrate."

I motion to the bathroom.

She shakes her head. "No, I walked over to a coffee shop halfway through that. I, uh…" She moves forward. Sets her glass on the counter. Keeps her back to me. "Walker, I… I get it if you hate me, if you never want to see me again. But wait until I explain to judge." She lets out a heavy exhale and pulls her arms over her chest. "If you still hate me, I'll leave. And I won't contact you again."

I move toward her. Set my glass next to hers.

She takes a deep breath. "I really am sorry."

My fingers skim her shoulders. "I know." I know she's sorry. I know I convinced her to stay quiet. I know she hurts as much as I do.

But that doesn't help clarify any of this.

I hate her and I need her are still tearing my heart in half.

It shouldn't matter.

If I can't trust her, that's it.

But it doesn't feel like it.

It feels like this is fixable. It has to be. I need her to fill that Iris shaped hole in my gut. Or I need to erase her from my mind.

One of them.

I don't know which.

"Oh." Her voice is soft. "Do you not… I… Uh…"

"Were you high?"

"What?"

"With me?"

"No. Never. That fight with Ross, it was about me going to rehab. I haven't touched anything since that. Since January."

"Look at me."

"I can't."

"'Cause you're full of shit?"

"No." Her exhale is heavy. "Because if you still hate me, I'm going to burst into tears, and I'd like to save that one scrap of dignity I have."

"Iris. I need you to look me in the eyes when you say it." I drag my fingertips down her arm. "Please." I want to believe her. I want to be able to believe her.

My fingers skim her shoulders.

Her hips shift. She presses her back into my chest. "Walker, I… I… Uh… What is this?"

"Look at me. Please."

Slowly, she turns to face me. Her blue eyes fill with vulnerability. She's hurting, yeah, but she's not lying.

"Tell me again."

"I haven't touched anything since before rehab."

"What did you use?"

"Heroin."

Fuck. I knew she'd say that. Deep down, I knew it. The place she got that tattoo—that's where Bree always had track marks.

But still, hearing it on her lips…

She takes a deep breath. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

"You want me to stay?"

"Yeah." I do. But then I don't.

I need her to be my Iris again.

But that Iris doesn't exist. She was some idea I had of her.

And that was on me, yeah.

But that doesn't make this any easier.

I need to turn my thoughts off.

I need the world to make sense.

I need her under me.

I slide my arm around her waist. Pull her closer. I shouldn't do this. She's not here to fuck me.

But I have to.

Her eyes bore into mine. They ask for everything and promise more. "Walker, I—"

I bring my hand to the back of her head and pull her into a slow kiss.

She groans against my lips. Her fingers dig into my t-shirt, pressing the cotton into my skin.

She's eager. Hungry. Needy.

Mine.

No. I need to erase that thought from my head.

Somehow.

"Walker." She slides her hand under my t-shirt. "I can't do this unless I know what it means."

"I need you."

"But—"

"I don't want to need you. I don't want to think about you. It aches. Like a part of me is missing. I want it back. Tell me how to get it back."

"I don't know."

"You're burnt into my brain."

She stares into my eyes. "Walker—"

"You're all I think about." I press my forehead to hers. "I need it to stop, Iris. I need my thoughts back."

She swallows hard. "But you want to fuck me?"

I want every ounce of her. And I want to destroy every memory of her. "I hate being away from you."

She presses her palm against my torso. Her eyes get soft. Hazy. "Tell me this won't be the last time."

"I can't."

Her eyelids flutter together. She rises to her tiptoes. Presses her lips to mine.

All her need pours into me.

All my need pours into her.

I don't know how to explain this. I wish I did. I wish it made sense.

I need her.

And I need her gone.

My fingers dig into her skin. "I don't want to hurt you. But I don't know what else to do. I need you so badly right now."

She presses her forehead to my chin. "Say it again."

"I need you."

Her nails dig into my skin. "Has there been anyone else?"

"No. You're all I think about."

"Me either. I mean me too. I mean—" She presses her lips to mine. Tugs my t-shirt up my torso.

I help her get it over my head.

My hands go to her hips. Then under her thighs. I lift her into my arms.

She wraps her legs around my waist.

I carry her into my bedroom. Set her on the bed.

She looks up at me.

We've been here a few dozen times. But it's different. It's never been all of her and all of me.

It's never been this desperate. This needy.

She kicks off her flats.

I unbutton and unzip my jeans. Push them to my knees.

She shimmies out of her panties. Motions come here.

I strip out of everything and climb onto the bed.

She wraps her hand around my cock. Kisses me as she strokes me.

Fuck.

I roll her dress up her thighs, her pelvis, her stomach, her chest. She breaks our kiss to toss it over her head.

I do away with her bra.

She drags her hands up my torso.

Her eyes lock with mine as I climb on top of her, nudge her knees apart.

She nods yes, now, please.

But she isn't ready.

I drag my fingertips up her inner thigh.

Her breath hitches as I stroke her. "Walker." Her hand knots in my hair. "Please."

Please forgive me. Please listen. Please love me.

I rub her harder. I want to give her all that. But I don't know how.

I only know how to give her this.

Her eyelids flutter together. She turns her head to one side. Groans my name.

Fuck, she's beautiful like this.

I stroke her with slow circles.

She tugs at my hair.

I watch pleasure spill over her expression as she inches toward the edge. Her brow softens. Her lips part. Her head tilts back.

There.

She groans my name as she comes on my fingers.

She's lost in it for a second. Then she blinks her eyes open. Stares back at me. Nods yes, now, please as she spreads her legs.

I plant my hands at her shoulders.

Slowly, I bring my body onto hers.

One inch at a time, I thrust into her.

Fuck. She feels good.

Mine.

It's like every time before. It sticks in my head. She sticks in my head.

She's—

Fuck.

I wrap my arms around her.

Sink into her as I thrust into her.

She lifts her hips to meet me. Brings her hand to the back of my head. Pulls me into a deep, slow kiss.

We stay locked together, moving together, groaning together.

She's mine and I'm hers.

And there isn't a single layer between us.

No deception. No baggage. No hurt.

Just her need pouring into me.

And my need pouring into her.

Until she's there, groaning against my lips, clawing at my back as she pulses around me.

It pushes me over the edge.

Pleasure spills through my body as I come.

She holds me as I fill her.

We stay locked together. We stay a sweaty, breathy mess.

I stay hers.

And she stays mine.