Page 19 of The Breakup Broker

She'd been unsteady on her feet the moment Maddy and Ivy had disappeared around the corner, their laughter still echoing up the street. Part of me wondered if I should leave, pretend I hadn't seen how she'd swayed against the door, the fumbling dance of her hands as she tried to fit the key into the lock.

But then she stumbled, pitching backward with a startled cry, and I was moving before I could second-guess myself. I took the stairs two at a time, catching her before she hit the ground.

"Got you." The words scraped raw in my throat as herbody curved into mine, fitting against me like the missing piece of a puzzle I'd been trying to forget. My arms tightened instinctively around her waist, muscle memory making fools of us both.

She melted against me for a heartbeat—one perfect, terrible moment where time seemed to stop—before going rigid. "No." Her palm pressed against my chest, and I knew she could feel my heart racing beneath her fingers like it always had at her touch. "Can't be you. Universe isn't that cruel."

"Pretty sure it is." I repositioned her, cradling her against me like something precious and dangerous. One arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees—the same way I'd carried her through summer storms and across dew-damp grass, over thresholds we'd dreamed about but never crossed. Her head found the hollow of my throat as if she'd never forgotten the way she fit there, and the familiar feel made my chest ache with everything we'd lost.

"Put me down." Her voice wavered, but the way her fingers curled into my shirt betrayed her. Her head tilted against me like some of her still remembered this andus.

"I hate you," she whispered, her voice unsteady with defiance—contradicted by the way she stayed close. "I hate that being near you still feels like home."

That hit like a gut punch.Home.Wasn’t that what I’d wanted to be for her? The thing I hadn’t been brave enough to fight for?

"You're bleeding." A thin line of blood trickled down her leg where she'd scraped it against the railing.

"Don't care." She jabbed a finger at my chest. "Why are you here? Are you stalking me? Because that's..." She swayed in my arms, frowning as she searched for the word. "That's bad. Terrible." She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I wished bad things on you. Like warts. Or a third arm."

"No warts. No third arms," I said, retrieving her keys from where they’d fallen. "Let’s get you inside before you hurt yourself worse."

Getting her door open while holding her proved challenging, especially with her alternating between going completely boneless in my arms and suddenly trying to escape. Adjusting my grip, I nudged the door open with my shoulder and stepped inside.

As I crossed into her apartment, it hit me—this was Savvy's space, her life after me, and every detail was like a clue I wasn’t sure I wanted to decipher.

I adjusted her, her head falling against my shoulder, and entered the living room. A worn leather couch sat across from a wall of mismatched frames. Colorful throw pillows were scattered haphazardly like she’d tossed them there in a hurry. A large bookshelf dominated one wall, crammed with titles ranging from classic literature to modern thrillers. I recognized a few of her favorites from college. Their spines were creased, and covers faded from countless re-reads.

But the photos were what caught my eye.

Still holding her, I moved closer to the frames on the shelf. Snapshots of a life I hadn’t been part of stared back at me—Savvy and her parents at her college graduation, their faces alight with pride and emotions too big for words. Then there was Savvy, Maddy, and Ivy, dressed in Halloween costumes: Savvy as a mischievous pirate with a crooked hat and plastic sword, Maddy as a glitter-covered fairy with wings askew, and Ivy as a zombie bride, veil trailing as they laughed at some unheard joke.

I tore my gaze away, my arms aching from holding her.

"Where's your first aid kit?" I asked, my voice strained but steady.

"Not telling." She crossed her arms—or at least tried to—before grabbing my shirt to steady herself. "Because you’re not the one who gets to care for me anymore. You lost that right somewhere between ‘forever’ and ‘ghost mode activated.’"

Christ. Drunk Savvy had always been honest, but this was like taking a razor blade straight to the jugular. “Come on, Savvy. Let me get a Band-Aid.”

"Bathroom," she sighed as if conceding some small battle. "Under the sink. Not because I’m helping you. I just ... don’t want to bleed on my new rug. Mom would kill me."

Navigating her unfamiliar space, I carried her down the hall, every step feeling like an intrusion. The bathroom door was ajar, light spilling into the hallway. I shifted her gently, setting her on the counter, her legs dangling over the edge as she blinked up at me, unfocused.

"This is weird," she murmured as I wet a washcloth. "You're being weird. Why are you being weird in my bathroom? And why is my bathroom spinning?"

"Because you probably drank your weight in wine," I replied, keeping my voice light as emotions churned.

“No,” she muttered, clutching the counter's edge for balance. “Because you’re Henry. My Henry. No, wait. Not my Henry. Just … Henry.”

Her fingers brushed my collar as I dabbed the scrape with a damp washcloth. She winced, her knee twitching like she wasn’t sure whether to pull away or hold still.

“That hurts.”

“It’swater, Savvy,” I said, steadying my voice.

“Well, it doesn’tfeellike water; it’s like fire,” she shot back, slumping against the mirror with a dramatic huff.

“You’re impossible.”

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