I missed her behind the desk at work—my mother was back in the chair, passive-aggressively ignoring me with her sighs and silences—I missed her smile and her voice and her scent in my apartment at night. I missed her singing that song about the rainbow in the shower, loud and off-key. I missed holding her close at bedtime, and every time I opened my closet door, I saw that fucking dress hanging there. Haunting me.

But I couldn’t let it go. The sight of it draped over the dumpster had gutted me, and I’d snuck it up to my apartment when no one was looking. I’d even had it dry-cleaned, and when the woman behind the counter had raised an eyebrow at me, I’d given her my grouchiest glare and said, “Don’t. Ask.”

“Should be a fun day tomorrow,” Cole said.

“Yeah.”

“And a good game.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Cole looked over at me like I was nuts. “We’ve been waiting all summer for this game. And your family has put a lot into the party, haven’t they?”

“Yeah. Blair did most of the legwork.” God, why had I used that word? Now I was thinking about her legs.

“Think she’ll make an appearance?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Because I told her she had to go, and she knew that I meant it.”

“I thought you said it was a mutual decision.”

“When did I say that?”

“Last week at the game we lost to the Mavs.”

“Oh.” I gritted my teeth. “I lied. It wasn’t mutual. She wanted to stay, and I told her she had to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I had to!” Suddenly words were tumbling from my mouth like an avalanche. “I was starting to feel things for her that were not okay. I kept getting distracted by these stupid ideas about us.”

“Like what?”

“Like—just—having her in my life. Her staying here. Us being together.”

“What’s so stupid about that?”

“Because it’s not what I want!”

Cole gave me the side-eye. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” I said, aggravated. “I made up my mind years ago that I was never going to be in the position of needing someone. I was never going to fall in love again. Because it sucks when it all goes wrong.”

“I’m not sure that’s a thing your mind can decide,” Cole said in his assured, easy way. “You just fall for someone. You don’t really choose it.”

“You know what I mean. Even if you feel something, you don’t have to act on it. You have free will. You can choose to be strong enough to resist or ignore the feelings.”

“Or you can choose to be strong enough to take the risk. But I agree that it sucks when it goes wrong.”

I glanced at him, softened my tone. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to compare our situations. What you went through was a lot worse.”

“I didn’t think you were comparing. I was just agreeing that losing someone you love hurts like hell. But there isn’t one day with Trisha I’d take back, even knowing how it ended.”

Ashamed, I fell silent, and spent the remainder of the run trying to think of reasons why Cole was wrong and I was right. He didn’t say anything more until we were nearly back at his house again.

“We’ve been friends a long time,” he said. “What, like twenty-five years?”

“Something like that. Yeah.”

“You were the best man at my wedding. You’re my daughter’s godfather. If anything were to happen to me, I trust you to raise her.”

I glanced at him. No matter what was coming, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it. “Yeah.”

“So I would expect that if I was fucking something up in a big way, and being a real asshole about it, you’d tell me. Right?”

“Right.”

“So I’m going to tell you this.” He stopped running, so I did too. He put a hand out and grabbed my shoulder, holding me at arm’s length. “You’re fucking something up in a big way, and you’re being a real asshole about it.”

I shoved his arm off my shoulder. “Fuck off, Cole. You don’t know anything about this.”

He parked his hands on his hips. “You think I don’t know you? You think I haven’t picked up a few things in the twenty-five years I’ve been your best friend? You think I can’t see when you really care about something?”

I clenched my jaw. Dug in harder.

“I was there, Griffin. I was there when you came home and Kayla abandoned you. I know what you went through when your dad died. I know you think having control over your life means never needing someone you could potentially lose. But none of those things are reasons to shut out someone you love.”

“I’m not in love with her,” I snapped, although I wasn’t entirely sure about that.

“But you could be.”

I didn’t admit it. Couldn’t. Instead I doubled down on asshole, which I always did when I felt cornered.

“And what about you? I don’t see you putting yourself out there.”

“Our situations are totally different, and you know it. But you can be damn sure that if someone came along who got to me the way Blair gets to you, I wouldn’t push her away.”

I felt my armor cracking. “I can’t undo what I’ve done.”

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t even know what to say to her. She probably hates me. I don’t even think she’d listen.” It was an excuse, and my best friend knew it.

“She’ll listen. If you say the right thing.”

“What’s the right thing?”

“That you were wrong. That you’re sorry. That you said things to her you didn’t mean because you were scared.”

Jesus. Could I say that to her? “It’s not . . . easy for me to admit those things.”

“It’s not easy for anyone, Griff. Every time you step up to the plate, there’s a chance you’ll strike out. But there’s also a chance you’ll knock it out of the park. Don’t blow this by not even taking a swing.”

I exhaled, my shoulders sagging.

“Take the risk, man.” Cole’s voice quieted. His blue eyes were intense. “Do you know how lucky you are? How much you’ll regret doing nothing when you could have had everything? Just . . . take the risk.”

He left me standing there and went in to eat dinner with his family, and I went home alone to eat by myself.

Later that night, I lay awake, thinking about what Cole had said. Was he right? Was I fucking this up? Would I regret not even trying to make things work with Blair?

Maybe I would. Being alone was not the salve on the wound I’d hoped it would be. I missed her too much. I’d had a taste of what life could be like with her in it, and now that she was gone, it was like endless rainy days stretching out in front of me without any chance for sun. Things that I used to enjoy—even baseball—had lost their shine.

I thought about the kind of closeness I’d had with her. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. She made it so easy to share things about me that I’d never shared with anyone. She made it so easy for me to be myself. She made me want to be a better version of that self. More patient. Less angry. More hopeful. Less bitter.