Chapter 2

At 1:17 a.m., Evan's phone rang.

When I woke up, he was in the bathroom, speaking in a low voice. "Serena, did you lock the door? Just try to stop crying."

Then he started getting dressed.

"You're going to her place?"

"She's having a panic attack. She's alone."

"She can call her doctor, her family, or a crisis hotline."

"She just got divorced."

He wielded those words like a free pass that excused everything.

"I'm not okay with you going to your ex-girlfriend's apartment at one in the morning."

Evan stared at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. "You never used to be like this."

"Like what?"

"Mature. Steady." He grabbed his car keys. "She genuinely needs someone right now. You don't have to make this about you."

"So she gets to break down, you get to play the savior, and I'm supposed to just make room for it?"

"No one's asking you to make room."

His phone rang again. He glanced at the screen, but somehow, his irritation landed on me.

"I don't have time to keep arguing."

"If I were the one calling, would you drop everything and come running too?"

He paused by the door.

"You wouldn't call. You're not the type to fall apart."

The door slammed shut behind him.

He was certain I wouldn't cry.

Wouldn't make a scene.

Wouldn't leave.

Evan came home close to four in the morning.

I hadn't slept.

When he opened the bedroom door, I was propped against the headboard with a book I had been staring at for half an hour without absorbing a single word.

"You're still awake?"

He took off his coat, sounding as casual as if he had simply worked late.

"How's Serena?"

"Better." He unfastened his watch. "I sat with her for a while. Once she fell asleep, I came home."

"Two and a half hours."

Evan looked up at me.

"You were keeping track?"

"No. I just checked the time."

He was silent for a few seconds before setting his watch on the nightstand.

"Laurel, I'm exhausted tonight."

"Then go to sleep."

I closed my book.

He probably hadn't expected me to let it go so easily. Instead of getting into bed, he stood there watching me for a moment.

"You're still angry?"

"I told you I wasn't comfortable with you going, and you went anyway. What's the point of asking whether I'm angry now?"

"So I was supposed to leave someone alone in the middle of a panic attack?"

"That isn't what I said."

"It's exactly what you meant."

I looked at him and suddenly couldn't bring myself to argue anymore.

"Good night, Evan."

The next morning, he bought me coffee as if nothing had happened.

When he set the cup on the kitchen island, he leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Don't be mad anymore."

The toast in my hand froze halfway to my mouth.

"Is this your apology?"

Evan's smile stiffened.

"Do we really have to start last night's argument all over again?"

"I'm only asking whether you're apologizing."

"Fine." He exhaled. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. Is that good enough?"

I picked up my coffee.

"Sure."

Relief was written all over his face.