That shuts me up.
For once in my life, at this precise moment in this stairwell, my mouth has the good sense to stop digging and let the silence do what it does.
She holds my gaze for a second longer. Something passes between us that neither of us reaches for. Then she turns and climbs the last few steps.
I follow her.
Slower this time.
By the time we reach her door, the fight between us is still alive. We are simply breathing, waiting, as if it has all the time in the world and knows it.
Skylar opens the apartment door with a sharp twist of the key, then walks inside.
She doesn’t hold it open for me. Of course, she doesn’t.
The door swings back and I catch it with my shoulder before it can hit me in the face. I step inside behind her, one grocery bag in my hand, and the second I cross the threshold, my chest does something stupid.
The apartment is small but warm and it is not meant to impress anyone. Mismatched furniture. A couch with a blanket draped over the back. A tiny table near the window, stacked withbooks, candles, and a cactus that looks considerably healthier than anything I have ever been trusted to keep alive.
There are photos stuck to the fridge. Cassie and Skylar laughing. Skylar, younger and softer, wearing a smile I haven’t seen in years. That one hits harder than it should.
Skylar drops the bag onto the kitchen counter with enough force to make the apples jump and she lodges a formal complaint.
I close the door behind me.
She turns, crosses the room, and takes the grocery bag from my hand before I can set it down.
“Thank you,” she says.
Her voice is polite which is never a good sign. Polite Skylar is a loaded gun wearing lipstick and I’ve been on the wrong end of it enough times to know exactly what comes next.
“But you can go now.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“No, Zane. I save my comedy for men who do not choke people outside my building.”
“He had his hand on you.”
“And you nearly strangled him in the street.”
“I stopped.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Do you want a gold star?”
“No. I want to know why you are acting like I was the problem.”
She laughs once. The laugh that has never meant anything is funny and she turns back to the counter. “There it is.”
“What?”
“That thing you do.”
I step further into the apartment, even though every functioning brain cell I have left is telling me to stay near the door.
