Why is he buying me gifts? He has a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend. Our past has already caused enough problems in my present. I certainly don’t need gifts to exacerbate that.

“Why are you buying me gifts, Atlas?”

He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “I bought it three years ago. I’ve been holding on to it in case I ever ran into you.”

Considerate Atlas. He hasn’t changed. Dammit.

I pick up the gift and set it on the floor behind my desk. I try to release some of the tension I’m feeling, but it’s really hard when everything about him makes me so tense.

“I came here to apologize to you,” he says.

I wave off his apology, letting him know it isn’t necessary. “It’s fine. It was a misunderstanding. Ryle is fine.”

He laughs under his breath. “That’s not what I’m apologizing for,” he says. “I’d never apologize for defending you.”

“You weren’t defending me,” I say. “There was nothing to defend.”

He tilts his head, giving me the same look that he gave me last night. The one that lets me know how disappointed in me he is. It stings deep in my gut.

I clear my throat. “Why are you apologizing, then?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Contemplative. “I wanted to apologize for saying that you sounded like your mother. That was hurtful. And I’m sorry.”

I don’t know why I always feel like crying when I’m around him. When I think about him. When I read about him. It’s like my emotions are still tethered to him somehow and I can’t figure out how to cut the strings.

His eyes drop to my desk. He reaches forward and grabs three things. A pen. A sticky note. My phone.

He writes something down on the sticky note and then proceeds to pull my phone apart. He slips the case off and puts the sticky note between the case and the phone, then slides the cover back over it. He pushes my phone back across the desk. I look down at it and then up at him. He stands up and tosses the pen on my desk.

“It’s my cell phone number. Keep it hidden there in case you ever need it.”

I wince at the gesture. The unnecessary gesture. “I won’t need it.”

“I hope not.” He walks to the door and reaches for the doorknob. And I know this is my only chance to get out what I have to say before he’s out of my life forever.

“Atlas, wait.”

I stand up so fast, my chair scoots across the room and bumps against the wall. He half turns and faces me.

“What Ryle said to you last night? I never . . .” I bring a nervous hand up to my neck. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. “I never said that to him. He was hurt and upset and he misconstrued my words from a long time ago.”

The corner of Atlas’s mouth twitches, and I’m not sure if he’s trying not to smile or trying not to frown. He faces me straight on. “Believe me, Lily. I know that wasn’t a pity fuck. I was there.”

He walks out the door, and his words knock me straight back into my seat.

Only . . . my seat is no longer there. It’s still on the other side of my office and I’m now on the floor.

Allysa rushes in and I’m lying on my back behind my desk. “Lily?” She runs around the desk and stands over me. “Are you okay?”

I hold up a thumb. “Fine. Just missed my chair.”

She reaches out her hand and helps me to my feet. “What was that all about?”

I glance at the door as I retrieve my chair. I take a seat and look down at my phone. “Nothing. He was just apologizing.”

Allysa sighs longingly and looks back at the door. “So does that mean he doesn’t want the job?”

I’ve got to hand it to her. Even in the midst of emotional turmoil, she can make me laugh. “Get back to work before I dock your pay.”

She laughs and makes to leave. I tap my pen against my desk and then say, “Allysa. Wait.”

“I know,” she says, cutting me off. “Ryle doesn’t need to know about that visit. You don’t have to tell me.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

She closes the door.

I reach down and pick up the bag with my three-year-old gift inside of it. I pull it out and can easily tell it’s a book, wrapped in tissue paper. I tear the tissue paper away and fall against the back of my chair.

There’s a picture of Ellen DeGeneres on the front. The title is Seriously . . . I’m Kidding. I laugh and then open the book, gasping quietly when I see it’s autographed. I run my fingers over the words of the inscription.

Lily,

Atlas says just keep swimming.

—Ellen DeGeneres

I run my finger over her signature. Then I drop the book on my desk, press my forehead against it, and fake cry against the cover.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s after seven before I get home. Ryle called an hour ago and said he wouldn’t be coming over tonight. The confusher-cackle (whatever that big word he used was) separation was a success, but he’s staying at the hospital overnight to make sure there aren’t complications.

I walk in the door to my quiet apartment. I change into my quiet pajamas. I eat a quiet sandwich. And then I lie down in my quiet bedroom and open my quiet new book, hoping it can quiet my emotions.

Sure enough, three hours and the majority of a book later, all the emotions from the last several days begin to seep out of me. I place a bookmark on the page where I stopped reading and I close it.

I stare at the book for a long time. I think about Ryle. I think about Atlas. I think about how sometimes, no matter how convinced you are that your life will turn out a certain way, all that certainty can be washed away with a simple change in tide.