Blake was tired. A kind of bone-tired that came from closing the bar the night before and having her shift start in the morning at the coffeehouse. Even though it was only about three fifteen in the afternoon when she walked into her apartment, she planned to head right to her room and crash.

On her way through the living room, she saw Gavin sitting on the couch sifting through proofs he had spread out on the coffee table. “Hey,” she said.

He jerked his head up like he was startled. “Hey.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Sorting through pictures to see which would be best to put in my portfolio.”

She took a step closer to the table. “Have any favorites?”

Gavin sat back and offered her a small smile. “Well, my absolute favorite one isn’t in this pile.”

“Where is it?”

“Behind you.”

Blake narrowed her eyes at him slightly before spinning around. When her eyes found what he was referring to, her entire body went rigid as her blood seemed to thunder in her ears. Emotions flooded through her system, overloading her senses. There, on her bright coral wall, was a framed picture of them that Gavin must have snapped during the photo shoot. His arm was around her, and their smiles were wide as they looked at each other with affection that was so clear the word might as well have been stamped on them. Since her eyes were on him, she hadn’t even realized he’d taken it. It was somehow the most beautiful and most frightening picture Blake had ever seen. Her chest began to heave as her eyes and throat burned. It felt like a panic attack was trying to take hold, but there were so many things at war within her, the panic couldn’t quite get a handle on her. Instead, everything seemed to converge into one feeling. Rage.

She whirled around to face him. “What the fuck is that?”

Gavin’s face fell quickly, and he immediately sat up straighter. “It’s a picture. Of us.”

“Yeah, no shit. Why is it on my goddamn wall?”

He looked confused and worried and a little scared. “I thought it would be nice. To have a picture of us in our apartment. We look happy in it.”

She stormed over to the small frame and took it off the hook and tossed it onto his lap. Then she pivoted and began hurrying to her room. She had to get away from him. Away from the fucking picture.

But Gavin seemed to be having none of that. “What the fuck, Blake?” he said as he followed her down the hall.

She opened the door to her room and tried to close it in his face, but he put his foot in the doorway to stop it. “Move,” she gritted out.

“Not until you tell me what the hell I did wrong? You’re acting crazy, even for you.” His eyes widened as soon as the words were out of his mouth, clearly surprised he’d let them slip.

His words hit her hard in a way she’d never be able to articulate. Because even though she referred to herself as crazy in jest, it was a whole different thing to have it hurled at her by someone else. But she covered the wound in the way she’d learned as a kid—with barbs. “I’m not acting, Gavin. I am crazy. Even spent a bit of time in a mental ward as a child because a few other foster kids at the house we were staying at decided it would be fun to lock me in a closet right before we were supposed to catch the bus to school. I was trapped in there all day because my foster parents assumed everyone got on the bus and then they left for work. I didn’t talk much before that happened, but I hardly talked afterward for almost two years and started acting out. I probably would’ve bounced back faster, but one of the therapists believed that holding children tightly for extended periods would fix their attachment issues. That was a special kind of hell for an eight-year-old who was terrified of confined spaces. You wondered what my nightmares are about? Well, now you know.”

Gavin looked sick, but Blake didn’t care. He wanted to make judgments about her? Act like he knew her? Well, fuck him. He didn’t know shit.

Blake threw open the door and gestured around her room. “Look around, Gavin. What don’t you see?”

His eyes never wavered from her. “Blake…please.”

She wasn’t going to let him try to deter her from her point. “Pictures,” she answered for him. “Not a single goddamn one.” Blake didn’t even have any of herself. Offering to let Gavin photograph her had been extraordinarily hard for her. But she’d fought through it because she wanted to help. “Wanna know why?”

He looked wrecked, but so was she. She’d been wrecked for a long time. “The first reason is because I don’t have any. My parents were too busy getting high to want to capture any family moments.” She said the final two words in a tone that showed how preposterous the notion was. Blake’s parents hadn’t been entirely terrible people, but they certainly hadn’t taken any family vacations or spent quality time together that warranted being immortalized with a photo.

“I don’t remember anyone taking pictures of me in foster care unless it was for my file. And as an adult…” Blake swallowed thickly. “I don’t need a photographic reminder of the people who come in and out of my life. Because I learned pretty early on that people don’t hang around, so why the hell would I hang them on my walls?”

“That’s not true though. Not everyone leaves.”

“Do you want to know how many foster families I was placed with?” She knew he wouldn’t answer, so she barely hesitated before continuing. “Fourteen. And do you know how many of those families told me I could get comfortable? That they wouldn’t send me away?” She raised her eyebrows in challenge. “Almost every one of them. And I broke a little bit every time I realized they’d lied until I finally smartened up and stopped letting myself get attached. People come and go. The only one I’m stuck with is myself, so I decided to start taking care of me. I know that might be hard for you to understand since it took you until you were twenty-five to accept, but—”

“What are you talking about? What took me until I was twenty-five to accept?”

“That the only person who should matter in your life, the only person you can count on to be there for you is you. If you think I’m wrong, well, look around. I don’t see your parents anywhere.” Blake knew she was hitting below the belt with that one, but she couldn’t stop the words from coming out before they did. But she was thankful Gavin hadn’t chosen to respond to her comment because she regretted saying it as soon as it crossed her lips. She took a breath to try to calm herself before speaking again. “Being whoever the hell I wanted to be without apologizing for anything. That’s how I know David Belson. He helped me get emancipated when I was sixteen.”

Gavin took a step toward her, but something in her face must have told him to back off because he stopped suddenly. “But you do have people who care about you. There’s Celeste. And Emily.”

She cut him off before he could add himself to the list, because she was sure he would have, and she couldn’t hear it. “I adore those girls, especially Celeste. But they’re not vital. If they dropped me tomorrow, I’d miss them, but I’d be okay. I’d understand, and I’d be able to move on without skipping a beat because there’s no footprint of them on my life. No shared clothes, no borrowed items—”

“No pictures,” Gavin finished for her.

“No pictures.” Blake sighed, some of her anger evaporating and resignation setting in. “You’re a great guy, Gavin. One of the best I’ve ever met. But I told you not to try to tie yourself to me. Because this was always how this was going to go.” She moved forward and tapped the picture he held in his hands. “I don’t do relationships, and I sure as hell don’t do memories. So you do whatever you want with that, but I don’t ever want to see it again.”

With nothing left to say and her room feeling too confining, Blake pushed past Gavin and fled the apartment, knowing she couldn’t outrun what had happened but was determined to try anyway.

* * *

Gavin stood in her doorway for he didn’t even know how long. It felt as though his limbs had been filled with lead. There was no way he could have known a simple gesture like hanging a picture of them would set her off like that.

Could he?

He finally forced himself to move and went back to the living room where he plopped down on the couch, tossed the frame aside, and buried his head in his hands. When he lifted it again, he looked around the room and tried to see it as Blake did. Sure, there was shit around, little trinkets and such, but not a single picture. He’d never even paid that much attention to that fact. He’d noticed it, sure. But as with the closet doors, he’d pushed it aside without really thinking about the why of it.

He picked up the picture and studied it. It was clear what he’d captured. This wasn’t a picture of two roommates or even two friends. The way they looked at one another—it was like he’d caught the purest manifestation of love possible between two people. Gavin was sure of how he felt, and he was fairly certain of Blake’s feelings as well. He felt like he probably recognized her feelings even though she seemed incapable of seeing them clearly herself.

But how was he supposed to get through to her when everyone she’d loved in her life had abandoned her? He didn’t blame her for being guarded. It was a matter of self-preservation. Gavin’s parents had always accused him of not being serious about his life, and he’d railed against that accusation at every turn because he sure as hell was serious. Serious about his art, and serious about Blake. The difference was, if he fell out of love with his art, he was the only one who’d be hurt by it. Should he try to get through to her when there were no guarantees they’d work out? When he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t eventually leave? Just because he couldn’t envision it happening didn’t mean it wouldn’t.

Blake clearly didn’t feel like it was worth the risk. And sitting on the couch with his thoughts all over the place, Gavin wasn’t sure he disagreed.