I PUSH OPEN THE KITCHEN DOOR AND INSTANTLY REGRET IT.

She’s there.

Leaning against the counter, half-empty drink swaying a little in her hand, the rim of the cup glinting under the harsh strip light. Music’s thudding through the walls, some bass-heavy track that’s probably about drugs or heartbreak—either way, it fits.

Her eyes find mine.

And I swear to God, everything in me just stops.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away, either. Not at first. Just stands there, eyes a little glassy, lips parted like she might say my name or maybe just breathe it. And then she turns her head too fast, like it burned to hold my gaze.

I shut the door behind me, slowly, because suddenly we’re alone and I don’t trust myself not to wreck it. Again.

Her drink tips slightly as she sets it on the counter. Her fingers shake. Mine are already in fists.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, voice lower than I meant it to be. Scratchy. Like all the words I never said are stuck in my throat now, queuing to get out.

She doesn’t look at me. Just shrugs. “Didn’t know you were, either.”

And that hurts more than it should. Like we used to be a certainty. Like I used to know when she’d show up. Like I ever had a right to know.

I cross the room, slowly, like I’m afraid she’ll bolt. Maybe I am.

“You…” I stop. Swallow. My hands go to my pockets, come out again. I can’t stand still. “You still with Hughie?”

Her head turns just enough to meet my eyes, barely. I see it hit her chest like a bullet, the question. The truth.

“Yeah.” It’s barely a sound. Just air and regret.

And I hate myself a little. But I say it anyway.

“I wish you weren’t.”

Her whole face flinches.

And then she laughs—sharp and bitter and cracked straight down the middle. “Yeah,” she chokes out. “Me too.”

Silence, except the music pounding from the other room, someone shouting over it. The smell of vodka and warm kitchen air.

I take a step forward.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Lets me.

Her eyes flick to my mouth. Mine to hers. It’d be so easy. One step closer, one second braver, and I could finally ruin everything the way I’ve wanted to.

But then—

RRRING.

Her phone blares.

On the counter.

Screen lit up like a curse. Hughie’s name glowing in bright, idiotic optimism.

I freeze.

She stares at it like it just punched her in the stomach.

I step back.

Same as always.

Same as the first time.

Same as every almost, every nearly, every “maybe in another life.”

She grabs the phone. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at me. Just walks out, one trembling hand gripping her drink like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

And I let her go. Again.

Because I’m a coward.

And because he called first.