I swallowed hard but stood my ground.
“I’m not running again.”
Michael sighed. “You may not have a choice.”
“I’m tired of living out of bags.”
“You think I don’t understand that?”
“No,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “I don’t think you do.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Painful.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, suddenly cold.
“You get to go home after this,” I whispered. “You get to sleep in your own bed. You get to have friends and a life and people who know your real name.”
My eyes burned instantly.
“I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Why did I say that out loud?
The humiliation hit a second later.
I looked away quickly.
But not before I saw Hersh’s entire expression change.
That look again.
Like hearing me hurt physically hurt him too.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
That one word nearly undid me all over again.
Gentle.
Careful.
The same way he used to say it when I got overwhelmed studying for finals or crying over my father or scared about the future.
Like he could somehow steady me just byspeaking softly.
My laugh came out shaky. “You really need to stop doing that.”
His voice lowered even more. “Doing what?”
“Sounding like home.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
The second they landed, regret slammed into me.
