The last words Ethan said to me still ring in my ears, echoing in my dreams. It’s been almost four months since he entered rehab and I moved back in with Kumi. Her father became more reasonable once I offered to pay my fair share of the rent and utilities, and Kumi threatened to drop out of law school if he didn’t agree.

Still not a word from Ethan. Every day I think about calling him, checking in to make sure he’s okay, but I stop myself. We aren’t together anymore. That was my decision, and I have to stick to it. It’s important for him to have this time alone. And for me, too.

“You’re getting an award?” my mom says, the sound of running water and clinking dishes in the background. “Echo, that’s fantastic!”

Saturday morning, I stand in front of the mirror putting on my makeup in the bathroom with my phone on speaker.

“I’ve been nominated by the magazine. Along with about a hundred other writers across the country. It’s for journalists under thirty-five, and I’m up against C.J., so I’m not holding out a lot of hope. But it’s an honor to be nominated.”

Actually, getting to say those words does feel like its own small prize.

“Still a big accomplishment, honey. I’m so proud of you.”

That’s not a bad prize, either.

“Thanks, Mom.”

She’s come a long way recently. My mom’s learned to accept that I’ve made my choice, for better or worse, to stay in Manhattan and pursue my career. And though she’d still prefer I become a beekeeper or make organic soap for a living, ideally somewhere quiet and secluded, she understands how important it is that I find my own path.

“So work’s great then. What else is going on?”

That’s her way of asking if I’m seeing anyone.

“Nothing’s changed.”

I go back to my bedroom and pull the plastic dry cleaning cover off my modest black dress.

“Honey, I know you don’t want to hear this.” And yet she’s going to say it anyway. “But maybe it’s time to get back out there, try meeting people.”

“I work fifteen hours a day. When I come home, all I want to do is crash. I wouldn’t have time to date if I wanted to.”

“Echo...”

“I’m not ready.”

She’s not alone on this. Everyone tells me I should move on, get laid. I’m not there yet. Meeting new people seems like entirely too much effort.

“I know you loved him, Echo, but at a certain point you have to think about self-preservation.”

That’s exactly what I’m doing.

“I’m not saying we’re getting back together. I’m not sure I want to, honestly. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to think about being with someone else. It just feels…wrong.”

“Oh, honey. You can’t be certain if you don’t try. Give it a chance.”

“Please. Stop. Let me do this in my own time, okay?”

The water running in the background shuts off. I hear a chair scrape the floor and her exhale through the phone.

“Echo, I want you to really think about this.” Her voice changes. A tone I haven’t heard in years. “Sometimes the people we fall in love with aren’t who we thought they were. We want so much to see the good that we create a blind spot for the bad. I don’t want to see that happen to you, honey. You are a bright and beautiful soul; you deserve every happiness. Don’t waste this time in your life on a wish that might not come true.”

Her message isn’t lost on me. My father ruined her when the great love of her life turned out to be a monster. He killed her ability to trust—in herself or others. Whatever great dreams and ambitions she had for her life were stolen by pure evil. So I don’t blame her for pushing, for trying to spare me the same heartache and betrayal. But Ethan isn’t Patrick. The two couldn’t be more different. And as hard as it is to argue that she’s wrong when all evidence points to the contrary, I know Ethan and I had something real. Until the resonance wears off, I’m not ready to let someone else into that space.

“Mom, I know you worry, but I’m okay. Whatever happens, I’ll be all right.”

My phone chimes to alert me I have a text from Carter telling me he’s downstairs. It’s just as well. Once the topic of Ethan comes up with my mother, it’s all downhill from here. So we say goodbye until the next time we’ll have this same conversation then I finish getting dressed.

A caravan of black limousines lines the road through the cemetery. Carter drives until we see the crowd of people gathered. It’s a blustery, frigid day, the wind whipping my hair around my face and lifting my black trench coat as we step out of his car and he takes my arm to escort me to the open grave. Carter was the one to tell me Linda had died. At first I was apprehensive about attending the funeral, certain that if Ethan wanted me here he would have called himself, but Carter convinced me. At the very least, I want to pay my respects and offer her family my condolences. Though I spent very little time with her, Linda was always kind to me. Welcoming and sweet. And I know her death is a difficult setback for Ethan, inevitable as it was. I want him to know I’m still here, if he needs me.

As we approach, I spot him seated beside Paul. Dressed in a tailored black suit, wavy chestnut hair tugged by the wind, he looks good—healthy. Though he hides his eyes behind dark sunglasses, I can see in his face he’s gained some weight back from the thin, gaunt man he’d become. Carter and I stand at the back during the service. At least forty people are gathered on three sides, huddling together and braced against the cold. Huge sprays of flowers teeter on their stands around the casket while the pastor gives his sermon.

Then as Ethan stands to speak, a flash of color catches my eye. Walking up from the road, where a yellow cab is pulling away, Vivian wears black jeans and a leather jacket. And a fresh coat of that neon pink dye job. The sight of her induces a sharp, stinging rage. Heat flames my face as I’m suddenly burning in my coat. Everything about her is offensive to me. That she isn’t in prison is repulsive. Quietly, I break away from Carter and stalk toward her. She isn’t going to ruin this for Ethan. I won’t let her.

“Turn around,” I say when I reach her several yards from the graveside. “You can’t be here.”

She stops, appraising me behind reflective aviator sunglasses. “That’s really not up to you.”

“I mean it, Vivian. Slither back into whatever sewer you washed out of and don’t let me see your face again.”

“He hasn’t spoken to me in months. I don’t know what you said to him, how you twisted him against me, but I was his friend long before you showed up. He needs me.”

“Listen to me.” I grab her wrist and push her back a few steps, concerned that our voices might carry and disturb the service. She tries ineffectually to shake my grip. “If I have to break your arm to keep you away from him, I’ll do it. There is no version of this where you take one more step past me.”

“Avery.” Carter comes up beside me, tall and intimidating. His hand brushes open his jacket as he puts his hand in his pocket, revealing the sidearm concealed in its shoulder holster. “There a problem?”

“Vivian was just leaving.”

Standing there, she appears to debate whether to test my resolve. And perhaps it’s the threat of a law enforcement officer that finally convinces Vivian this isn’t a fight she can win. I release her, and she turns to skulk away, back down the road out of the cemetery.

“If you ever consider a career change…” he says as we walk back to rejoin the service.

“Me with a badge and gun would be a terrible idea.”

After the funeral concludes, we linger out of the way. I’m having second thoughts about approaching Ethan, and the idea of talking to Paul has my fingers going a bit fuzzy. This might have been a horrible idea. The death of a loved one is a solemn, private affair. Showing up without an invitation is awfully uncouth. But just as I’m about to insist Carter get me out of here, Ethan spots us. He stands there, frozen for a moment. Hands in his pockets, shoulders high and tense, I’m afraid I’ve upset him. Then he moves, coming toward us in long, confident strides. My heart races as I search for the right thing to say.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Carter says, and he walks off before I can tell him not to leave me here alone.

Once Ethan’s looming over me, I can’t speak at all. He smells the same: mint and eucalyptus. His presence, like the day we met, sucks all the air from the space around us and I’m trapped in his overwhelming gravity. My skin buzzes with awareness—the memory of him and how he touched me. How good we were when it was good. How red and desperate his eyes were the last time I saw him. The pain when he left me and the heartbreaking relief when he came back. Now he’s here, and I have nothing and everything to say.

“Avery,” he says, soft and almost reverent. “I’m glad you came.”

“Carter.” I clear my throat, blinking away the sting in my eyes. “He thought I—”

“Thank you.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and the gesture is nearly enough to collapse me. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I don’t feel the wind or the cold, only the need to be closer and the ache of how unnatural this feels, being apart.

“I’m so very sorry, Ethan. Your mother was a lovely woman. I’m grateful I got the chance to meet her.”

His lips attempt a smile, but it’s barely a twitch. “She was quite fond of you. We talked about you at the end. Good things. I promise.”

I wipe my eyes, glancing away to seek out Carter, who’s standing beside his car. “Well, I wanted to pay my respects, and, uh, I should probably let you go so—”

“Are you coming back to the house?”

“Oh, um…”

“Please.” He cups my cheek, running his thumb under the ridge of my bottom lip. Every part of me wants to lean into him. To be held in his arms again. Safe and warm. “I need you with me.”

I promised I would. And I will.

Hundreds turn up for the reception at the Ash townhouse following Linda’s funeral. When I arrive with Ethan, the street is clogged with limos dropping off passengers. Inside, the entire first floor is overcrowded with people dressed elegantly in black, sipping drinks, and nibbling on finger foods. Half the wealthiest men and women in America are here, including several celebrities. But Ethan wants nothing to do with any of them. He takes us up to the second floor and his childhood bedroom, now converted to a simple guest room. He stands at the window, jacket open and hands shoved in the pockets of his tailored black pants, framed in dim gray light as clouds blanket the city. I’m content to watch him, to absorb the sight of him, refilling the empty space where the memories had begun to fade.

“This morning was the hardest day yet,” he says, his back to me as I sit on the edge of the bed. “I was clawing out of my skin. If there’d been any liquor at my place, I’d have drowned in it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. Because I hoped I’d see you, and I wanted you to be proud of me.”

A knife twists in my chest. “I am proud of you, Ethan.”

He turns, ocean-blue eyes shining behind withheld tears. He manages half a smile, wistful and sad.

“I’m still sober. Not a drop since my arrest.”

“That’s fantastic. You should be proud of yourself, too.”

Coming toward me, there’s a restrained fierceness about him. He’s a powerful animal held behind thin glass. Ethan stops at the edge of the bed, inches away. Intense, palpable energy tugs at me. It’s suffocating being this close to him. He’s regained that ineffable potency that shrinks the room around him, demanding attention.

“You’re all I think about,” he says, running his fingertips down my arm. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing your face. Sitting in a quiet room, I hear your voice. I barely sleep, and when I do, I dream about you lying next to me. Then I wake up, touch the cold space in bed, and I remember why you left me.”

“Ethan…” I should walk away now. Stop this before I can’t. But…

“It’s killing me, Avery. I’ve tried, but I can’t stay away from you any longer.”

He bends and takes my face between both strong, warm hands. His lips meet mine, soft and tender. Like they’ve always been there. A heavy, crushing wave of relief and want pull me under. I’m not capable of resisting him. Not when I’ve thought about this moment and almost nothing else for months since we last touched. When he grabs my hips and pushes me up the bed, draping his body over mine, I weave my fingers into his hair and hold him to me. If only I could make this moment last. Stay here, suspended, unconcerned about a tomorrow that will never arrive. Here, everything is as it should be. For this brief and eternal moment, the pieces fit together, and I’m whole again.

“Fuck, Avery.” Ethan breathes against my lips, harsh and strained. He grasps the back of my leg, hitching it up around his hips as my dress gives way to his hand sliding upward. “I’ve fucking missed you.”

I hate myself as I push the jacket off his shoulders then dig my fingers into the crisp fabric of his shirt. We can’t do this. It’s horrible timing and a worse venue. More than that, he isn’t ready. Nor am I. Neither of us has proven we can adequately function without the other. If he’s still clinging to me as his reason for sobriety, he hasn’t come to terms with taking responsibility for his own recovery. And until I can go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning without thinking of him first, I’m not strong enough to support him, or walk away again if I must, if he falls off the wagon.

“Ethan,” I say, pushing at his chest. “Stop.”

He pulls back, staring down at me through thick lashes. Hair falls over his forehead and his chest heaves against mine.

“Come home,” he says. “Please.”

“I don’t live there anymore.”

“It’s still your home. Wherever I am, you’ll always have a home there.”

I turn my head, staring out the window as tears prick my eyes. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why? Why do you want me to pretend I don’t love you? What point is there in entertaining a reality where you aren’t the last woman I’ll ever love?”

The tears fall down my cheeks, and I can’t bear the weight of him anymore. I push him off, scrambling to my feet.

“Because I can’t leave you twice. I can’t suffer this agony a second time. You broke my fucking heart, Ethan. You made me sit there and watch you kill yourself a little bit every day and it tore a piece of me away that I can’t get back. I love you so much, and I hate what you did to us.”

“Hey.” He lunges at me, capturing me in his arms and holding tight when I try to break free. “I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I’m better now. That’s over. I’m never going to be that guy again. I swear, Avery. I’d rather throw myself off a building than ever put you through that again. You have to believe me. I need you.”

“That’s the problem,” I mutter against his chest. “You have to stop needing me and start a life that doesn’t include me.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want that life.”

“I’m sorry.” Pushing away, I step out of his arms. “Please understand, this isn’t about forgiveness. I forgave you a long time ago. But I have to put myself first, and you have to make decisions for you, not anyone else. The only thing that’s going to allow that to happen is time.”

The impassive mask falls into place as Ethan stares at me, hands sliding into his pockets. “So that’s it. You’re walking away.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve always been right here. I said I’d be your friend, and I always will. But right now, we can’t be together. You have to learn to live without us.”

No matter how much I love him, his sobriety is more important than my pain. I’d take a lifetime of anguish and separation if it meant keeping him from ever going down that dark path again. It’s what you do when you love someone.

“I should go.” I straighten my dress and wipe my eyes, taking in one last look to save for the uncertain time ahead of us. “If you need anything, please call me. This isn’t goodbye.”

Just as I’m about to walk out the door, Ethan stops me. He holds my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles.

“You got me this far,” he says. “Don’t give up on me.”

I close the distance between us and rise on my toes to kiss his cheek.

“Never.”

Because I’m still holding my breath, waiting for that day when I don’t feel like I’m Ethan’s relapse waiting to happen.