Page 76 of Wild Card 13

"So nothing."

The word echoed between us.

Nothing.

Nothing about the way my heart was still racing.

Nothing about the fact that I wanted to reach across the tiny space separating us and kiss him for remembering my coffee order.

Nothing about waking up happier than I had any right to be.

Nothing about the terrifying realization that sleeping with TyBurns had reminded me exactly why getting over him had taken eight years.

"It can't happen again," I finished.

His shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. "Okay." That one word hurt far more than an argument would've. No teasing. No trying to convince me. No promises. He nodded once. "I understand."

I wasn't sure whether I wanted him to.

He set the bakery bag on the desk. "I grabbed you one of those blueberry muffins you used to like."

Used to.Because neither of us knew if I still did.

He walked toward the door.

Every step felt wrong. Every instinct inside me screamed at me to tell him to stay. To sit down. To drink the coffee. To pretend, just for another five minutes, that we'd somehow found our way back to being us.

Instead, I stood frozen beside the bed.

His hand settled on the doorknob. He opened the door. Then, so quietly I almost wondered if I'd imagined it, he said over his shoulder, "See you later, Shortcake."

The nickname connected with my gut with a punch.

Suddenly I wasn't twenty-five anymore.

I was seventeen, standing barefoot in my childhood bedroom while Ty leaned against my window after sneaking out before sunrise, grinning like he'd gotten away with something.

See you later, Shortcake.

Always whispered. Always followed by a wink. Always carrying the unspoken promise that he'd be back.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I stood perfectly still. Coffee warming my hands. Tears burning unexpectedly behind my eyes.

Get a grip,I thought before setting the flimsy cup down on the nightstand.

I paced in small circles of the room doing a bit of time zone math. It was early in New York, which meant it was the ass-crack of dawn back in Northbend.

It didn’t matter. This was a crisis. Naomi would understand.

I flung myself onto the bed and barked at Siri toFaceTime Spirit Animal.

The call connected to a black screen and a grunt from my ride-or-die. "What?" Naomi's voice was thick with sleep. "Lucy? Are you okay? What the fuck time is it?"

"It's early."

"It's..." I heard rustling on the other end before the glow of a bedside lamp flooded the screen. Naomi squinted into the camera, hair piled into the world's messiest bun, one side of her face still buried in her pillow. "...five-thirty."