Page 297 of Breathe Like Hell

“Okay.”

I turned my head, moved my foot, staring again at the rain trickling down the glass. I felt lost. Completely fucking lost, unable to navigate this moment with the person who knew me better than anyone, the person I’d spent more than half my life in love with. And I was still probably in love with him. But what the fuck did that mean now? What the fuck were either of us going to do about that?

I could never admit that to him. What would he think if I did?

Was I the only one of us who felt this way?

Did it even matter?

Either way, I was a fucking burden to him.

Dakota’s boots thudded on the tile as she approached and I gratefully turned towards her, moving so she could slide past me into the booth. Her eyes flicked back and forth between us. Whatever expression she saw on my face made her frown, but she didn’t comment on it.

“Can you please hand me the syrup?” she asked.

Micah pushed the pitcher towards her. She poured a generous amount over the stack of waffles, keeping the stream going until sticky liquid was pouring off the sides and onto the plate.

“You think that’s enough?” Micah joked.

“Just wait until I finish eating the top waffle,” she warned, picking up her utensils. “Then I’m going to pour on even more—to accompany the second waffle.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Do you want some?” She offered a bite, waving her fork.

“Sure.”

Dakota reached across the table and Micah ate the waffle right off her fork, sitting back while he chewed. Every time he looked at her, he was at ease. Every time he looked at me, he had the same vulnerable thread pulling in his gaze.

I flexed my jaw, rolled out my shoulders.

“Mason?”

“Yes, baby?” I turned to look down at Dakota.

“Your turn for a bite.”

“Alright.” I obliged her, opening my mouth for the syrup-drenched bite she gave me.

“Pretty good, right?”

“I mean, yeah. But we’ve already established I like the blueberry waffles here.”

Micah watched our exchange with interest—and some torment, as he caught my tone. Dakota and I had history with this place, outside of him.

“Our first date was at this diner,” Dakota explained to him. My chest tightened with her choice of words, an ache spreading across my heart. First date. Was it a date? I guess. A date for two fucked-up people. Waffles and suffocation.

“Oh,” Micah replied.

The rest of the conversation fell away into the sound of Dakota cutting and eating her meal. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Every single one of my thoughts were hung up on the man sitting across from me, and I knew he could sense it.

Maybe his thoughts were hung up on me, too.

But neither one of us said anything else.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

MICAH