Page 142 of Suite 7

Gerald: I’m home. Come over.

He’s waiting when the elevator opens into his penthouse. One look at my face, red-eyed, jaw tight, and he steps back to let me in.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Sidney?”

He goes still. “What?”

“Sidney.” I set my bag down. Don’t move further into the room. “Your sister’s best friend. The one you dated when you were seventeen. The one she lost because of it.” I watch his face. “Why didn’t you tell me that story existed?”

His expression shifts. “How do you⁠—”

“Sloane told me.” I cross my arms. “All of it. The hook-up, the four months, the friendship falling apart afterward. How furious she was with you.” I hold his gaze. “Is that why you’ve been stalling? Is it because on some level you already know you’re doing it again?”

“Vera—”

“Because it would make a lot of sense, Kane. It would actually explain why you’re hesitant to tell her about us.”

“Sidney was a long time ago.” His voice comes out sharp. “I was seventeen. I was a teenager, Vera.” He looks at me. Something working in his jaw. “I didn’t understand what it cost Sloane at the time. I should have. But I didn’t.”

“Well.” My voice goes quieter. “She hasn’t forgotten.”

I watch his face as I say the next part.

“She said it was the thing that taught her the people you love shouldn’t date each other. That it never ends well. That someone always gets hurt.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. Small. Gone before I can name it.

“She said she lost her best friend and she was furious at you for a long time.”

“And then she squeezed my hand.” My throat tightens. “And told me that at least when you and me are fighting, she still has both of us.”

I have to stop. Look down. Then back up.

“We’ve already taken that away from her. She doesn’t know it yet.”

His hands, resting on the counter, have gone very still.

Then he crosses to me — not quick, each step deliberate — and frames my face with both hands. His thumbs find my cheekbones.

I feel my eyes go wet. I don’t let it spill.

“What if she can’t forgive us, Kane?”

His hands don’t move. His eyes don’t either.

“That’s her choice to make.” His thumbs stroke, slow. “But she can’t make it until she knows the truth. We don’t get to decide what Sloane does with the truth. We only get to decide whether we give it to her.”

Something settles in my chest. Heavy and permanent, the weight of a thing that can’t be undone.

I close my eyes.

“Kane.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too.”