Page 33 of Trust Fund Baby

“I know,” he said, sorrow etching every inch of his face. “I know I don’t deserve to stand here acting like I suddenly care about all the damage I caused. But I do. I’ve always cared, Rox.”

“Don’t,” I snapped, hating how familiar that old nickname for me sounded on his lips, like it still belonged there. “You don’t get to say that. Because after all these years, you never did anything to make it right until I happened to come back into your life. Only then were you forced to see the consequences of your actions. Words hold weight, Sebastian. What you said to my grandfather changed everything. It doesn’t matter that you were a stupid teenager. Your stupid teenage actions ruined my life.”

His shoulders dropped, but he didn’t argue. Which was worse somehow. If he yelled or deflected or played the arrogant ass I remembered, I could hate him again with ease. But this? This quiet, raw version of Sebastian chipped away at my anger every time he said nothing.

Finally, after what felt like ages, he said, “I still think about it.”

My mind raced as I stared at him, unable to process anything. The world seemed to halt, then spin the other way, causing me to lose my footing in this conversation.

“That summer. Everything that happened. What would’ve happened if things had turned out differently.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. But there was nothing funny about any of this. “You think about it? Try building your life from scratch after losing every safety net you ever had because the person you trusted most turned you into a villain.”

Sebastian recoiled.

Good.

Part of me wanted him to hurt as badly as I was right now, but the sadness in his eyes was making things difficult.

I remembered the boy whose dark hair would fall into his eyes, and how he would push it away when he was annoyed, only for it to fall back down. A boy who would call in the middle of the night to ask if I’d slip away with him to his sailboat after his father had ridiculed him again. It was the only place he ever felt safe to go after nights like those. That Sebastian was soft and guarded, self-conscious of who he was and always feeling like he would never measure up to the expectations his father had for him. But he had never once looked as sad as he did right now.

Sebastian turned away from me, raking a hand through his hair just like he did when we were kids. “God, Roxie,” he said, voice tight, like each word had to claw its way out. “Do you think I don’t know that? That I haven’t replayed that night a thousand times, wondering why you did what I thought you did?”

I opened my mouth, but he was already on a roll, speaking too fast for me to find room to interject.

“I didn’t just ruin your life. I torched the only real thing I ever had. And for what?” He let out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “Some bruised ego and a gut full of jealousy? I blew it all up. You. Us. All because I was too fucking bullheaded to just ask a question.”

My arms gripped my body tighter, like that would somehow hold me together through the end of this conversation. But it didn’t stop the ache that throbbed right beneath my ribs.

He looked at me, truly examined me, and I despised the way my heart responded. How it stumbled in my chest like it still remembered how to beat for him.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t even know if I deserve that. But I keep thinking about what we used to have. What we could have now. Even if it’s just …” He hesitated, like he needed a moment longer to weigh the words before he put them out into the world. “Even if it’s just a friendship.”

That word made my stomach twist. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. I hated myself for feeling disappointed that he didn’t have his heart set on more.

“I miss it,” he added, softer still. “Us. Not the drama. Not the mess. Just … you. Your laugh. The way you used to get excited about new film rolls for your camera or how you made me try sushi every time we were in the city even though I hated it back then.” His lips curled into the smallest, saddest smile. “I miss my best friend.”

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Every day since Sebastian Whittaker had waltzed back into my life had already felt like I’d entered an alternate universe. But now here he was asking to be my friend again as if I could just say yes and that we’d go back to how things were before. There wasn’t a world in which things could be that simple.

But as I stood there—barefoot on the stone patio, dress clinging to my legs—I couldn’t ignore the ache still stinging in my chest. I took a step closer, closing the distance between us.

Sebastian’s expression flickered, but he didn’t move away. He just let the silence sit between us, heavy and dense.

“Do you really think we could go back to being friends like we used to be?” I asked, not hiding the crack in my voice. “Because I’m not sure. I don’t think there’s a version of us that exists without all the wreckage between us.”

“I’m not asking to go back,” he said. “I’m asking to try again. To start from where we are now. No pretending. No editing the past. Just … something real. Something honest.”

Something honest.

I didn’t know what honest looked like with him anymore. Not when we’d both spent years pretending the other didn’t still exist. Not when our foundation was built on so many missed chances and sharp words and one colossal misunderstanding that blew everything to hell.

But I also couldn’t ignore the part of me that wanted to believe him.

That missed him, too.

Missed the way he used to hold my camera bag when it got too heavy as we walked around looking for somewhere I could practice photography. Missed the boy who memorized my favorite orders at all our regular places and who once broke his arm falling off his bike trying to race me home after we’d stayed out too late to get ice cream. We were both grounded for a week. That was the first time I had ever snuck out my window to meet up with him.