Page 41 of When Sky Breaks

“He didn’t want to sell it or give it to some ‘Gen X kid who’d muck it up and drive it to the ground.’ His words.” I chuckle lightly, remembering that conversation. “He was very adamant I take it. And I was in a place where I could.”

“So, you did go to California.”

I don’t know what to make of her tone. Disbelief that I did what I said I was going to do all those years ago?

“Yeah. I did. Spent a few years taking photos for a magazine, a few websites.” I pause, not jiving with this shallow conversation. “Sky, I?—”

“Stop. Please, just stop.” Her fingers clutch the sides of the mug until they turn white. “I don’t know if I can sit here and just make small talk with you.”

I almost reach out to wrap my hand around hers to comfort her, but I’m the one who’s made her uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The apology is sincere, but I can’t guarantee she’s going to see it that way. There’s just so much between us. This table feels miles wide.

The screech of her chair scooting away from the table isn’t loud, but enough to know it’s too much, and she’s cracking at her fragile seams.

“Please, can we talk? Really talk?” I speak softly, pleading for her to give me a chance.

To do what? You’ve fucked it up beyond repair.

She shakes her head, tears making those eyes alight with pain as she stands and pulls her jacket tight. Turning, she makes for the door.

Adrenaline or the need to be near her fuels me to follow, just like in the cemetery. This can’t be how it ends. With one of us always running away.

“Sky,” I say, brushing past a person coming in the door she’s leaving from.

“Leave me alone,” she counters, swatting away an invisible hand.

I can’t. Not anymore.

At the end of the building, there’s a side street that’s more of an alley between the coffee shop and the antique store. I snag her arm and propel her down the shortcut and crowd her space, my arms caging her to the freezing brick wall.

I’m not letting her leave just yet.

The apple scent from her hair rises and my brain riots. Her eyes track me, her chest heaving. There’s an exchange of warm air between us, our lips mere centimeters apart. My pulse races, and my muscles coil, wanting to eliminate the distance. Time disappears, and we’re back in those moments where nothing and no one else mattered.

“Shortcake.”

“Don’t.” She trembles, and after a deafening pause, I retreat, giving her a chance to run if she wants. I wouldn’t blame her, but I just—we need to talk.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. You lost that right when you left.” She swipes at the tears falling from her eyes.

Dipping my head to my chest, I step all the way back until I thud against the brick wall opposite of her. I shove my hands in my pockets before the urge to kiss her literally steals any chance of her talking to me again.

She doesn’t leave. Doesn’t move.

Our eyes tangle. There’s so much hovering in the space between. I don’t even know where to start. There’s no apology to fix what I did.

“Sky—”

She silences me by holding up her hand. “Let me speak, please.” She rubs under her eyes, some of her makeup smearing.

The wind gusts, sending her hair spiraling toward the sky. Holding it with one hand near her ear, she takes a deep breath, and I hold mine.

“I think what hurts more than anything is that you lied to me. We spent a year as best friends. Even as kids, I knew you were the real deal. You were there for me when I needed you most.” She clutches at the hem of her shirt as if she needs something to tether her.

It used to be me who tethered her.

Sky’s words grow choppy, and she’s on the verge of more tears. “Then we had those two months together, and—I trusted you with my heart, and you lied to get it. You don’t know how long I blamed myself for that fire. I thought it was me who killed Chase. It was a lot on my shoulders.” Her sadness seeps from her pores, and it makes me hate myself that much more. “Then to find out it was two people I loved more than anything? I lost myself, August. Completely.”

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