My feet falter, just for a moment, before I gain the courage to write back, my thumbs sweaty from the sudden panic I feel.

Becca: Because it’s not relevant. Besides, you never asked.

His reply is immediate.

Unknown: You’re right. I should’ve asked. I thought maybe you’d be stuck, like I am, spending the past year unable to move on. But I’m glad you have someone who sees you, Becs.

I read his words, over and over, the panic I’d felt turning to pain. I blink hard, pushing away the tears threatening to fall.

Unknown: And you have my new number now. So let me know if he breaks your heart, I’ll fly right over and break his legs. ;)

A smile spreads across my face, completely unexpected. But also not. Because that’s the thing about Josh, he makes me feel. In two simple texts he managed to break me and heal me.

“You coming?” Aaron asks, standing by the door of the church.

I’m one foot in the building when my phone sounds with an e-mail and I’m reminded of the lie I’d told Josh about not following his success. Because as I look down at my phone, at the now open e-mail alert for none other than Josh Warden, my heart shatters and the world around me turns black. “Josh Warden, favorite to take out St. Louis Skate Tour, withdraws from event unexpectedly.”

—Joshua—

My best friend Hunter answers his door in nothing but sweats, holding a baseball bat. He’s never played baseball in his life, but it’s a valid reaction to someone knocking on your door at three in the morning without so much as a text. I’d switched off my phone right after I called Chris to tell him I was leaving. I didn’t want to deal with what I knew was coming.

Hunter lowers the bat when he sees me with Tommy asleep in my arms, and steps aside to let us in. Chloe comes down the stairs, her hair a mess. Without a word, she takes Tommy from me, kisses my cheek, and then goes back upstairs. “Aunt Chloe?” Tommy whispers, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” she answers. Hunter closes the door and leads me to his kitchen, switching on the lights as he does. He doesn’t speak as he opens the cupboard and pulls out two glasses, then reaches into his freezer and grabs a bottle of vodka. After filling the glasses, he pushes one across the counter to where I’m now sitting. His gaze searches mine, and I can already tell he knows. He’s aware of where I’ve come from, and he also knows who else lives there He lifts his glass, his eyes apologetic. “To broken hearts and mended souls.”

I down my drink. He refills it. We repeat this twice before he says, “Whenever you’re ready, man.”

I focus on the empty glass in front of me. “I broke her, dude. And it’s not even her heart I’m worried about… I’m pretty sure it’s healed because she’s moved on with some other guy. Aaron.” I spit his name, hating its presence on my tongue.

“I’m assuming you saw her?”

With a nod, I push the glass away and drop my head on my arms. “She interviewed me for her school newspaper.” I wipe my lips on my sleeve and look up at him. “You should’ve seen her, man. She had to have all these things to help her communicate. She types and her laptop relays what she’s written and her…”—I push down the puke—“her boyfriend—he taught her sign language so now—”

“He’s deaf?” Hunter cuts in.

I shake my head. “His ex-girlfriend was, or something. I don’t really know. You should’ve seen this kid, man. I guess he’s some kind of athlete at their college and they met during group therapy. I fucking caused her to go to therapy and—”

“Becca’s past was pretty fucked up, Warden,” he says quickly. “And I’m almost positive she needed therapy even before you came along.”

I ignore him and continue. “The kid’s like a perfect poster-child Abercrombie model looking douche-tool—”

“And you’re jealous of his perfection?”

“—and I’m just some punk skater,” I finish, and tap my glass.

He refills it. “Pro skater,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Irrelevant.” I practically inhale the vodka. “And no, I’m not jealous of his perfection. I’m jealous that he’s perfect for her.”

Hunter nods once. “Right.”

I tap my glass again. And again, he refills it.

“And that’s why you left the comp?”

I stay silent.

“Does she seem happy?” he asks, and I sit up straighter, the truth in my answer hitting me hard.