"Blythe," I tell her. "How'd you find out?"

"John."

That freaking little weasel!

I'm going to kill him! Murder him!

But Bridge isn't done. Because she's Bridge. And when she's being cornered, offense is the only kind of defense she knows. So instead of backing down and admitting she was wrong so that I can then do what I really want to do, what my fear and rage blackout is preventing me from doing-apologize-she lashes out. "You remember John, right? The guy you told me you were dating. The guy I hate. The guy you took on a double date and completely lied to my face about getting back together with?"

Not my best moment, I'll admit.

But I'm too blinded by fury and paranoia to say that to Bridge. Instead, I match her blow for blow. "Oh, I remember-remember how you stopped talking to me even though I'm your best friend because you thought I was dating someone you didn't like. I remember how easy it was for you to cut me out of your life like I meant nothing to you. I remember how quickly you went running into the arms of my ex-boyfriend the second my back was turned."

"You think it was easy for me?" Bridge gasps.

I curl my hands into fists, trying to hold myself back. But I can't. I'm too far gone to stop now. "It sure looked easy when you were shoving your tongue down his throat!"

"I thought you were over him."

"I am!"

"Then why do you care?"

"I don't!"

Only, the way it comes out makes it sound like I do care, like I care a whole lot. But I don't. Not really. Not about Patrick. I care about Bridge, I care about us, and I care that somehow all that trust we spent years building up is totally shattering in a matter of minutes.

We're eye to eye. Nose to nose. A few inches apart, both breathing heavily, both flaring our nostrils, both in full-on attack mode. And for a moment, I want to step back, I want to rewind and start all over because I know this isn't how this was supposed to go. In fact, this is the exact opposite of how this was supposed to go. But now that I'm here, I don't know how to slow down.

I open my mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe to yell some more, I'm not even sure. But Bridge beats me to the punch.

"Don't turn this around on me! You hooked up with my brother!"

"Well," I spit, not in control of myself let alone the situation. "You hooked up with my ex!"

"You've been lying to me for weeks!"

"You've been lying to me for weeks!"

"Girls," Ollie steps in.

We both turn to him. "Shut up!"

But, wait, no!

That's not what I wanted to say, that's the last thing I wanted to say.

But I said it.

I can't take it back.

And before I can reach out and hold his hand, before I can apologize for derailing this entire situation, before I can assure him of anything, Bridge jumps in again.

"How long?" she asks.

"How long what?" I snap.

Bridge takes a deep breath, slowing us both down, slowing everything down. And then in a tone I've never heard before, she says, "How long have you been in love with Ollie? How long have you been keeping that a secret from me?"

I swallow.

My eyes find the floor.

Because she has me. Yes, Ollie and I have been lying for weeks. Yes, she's been dating Patrick behind my back. Yes, we've both handled the situation poorly. But outside of the past month, Bridge has always been honest with me, has always trusted me, has always believed in me. And I can't say the same, not quite. Because I lied to her about being a virgin for a really long time, but I lied to her about Ollie for even longer.

"High school," I murmur.

Bridge steps back as though pushed, blinking rapidly as her eyes grow watery. "Is that why you were friends with me?"

My jaw drops. "No! Of course not!"

But Bridge is too in her own head to hear, and her eyes flick around the room, focusing on everything and nothing all at once as her entire past starts to unravel. "Is that why you came over to hang out all the time? Is that why you wanted to spend time with me? At my house?"

I step closer, reaching out, but she backs away. "Bridge, come on, don't be ridiculous. We've been inseparable since kindergarten, you're my best friend."

"Am I?" she murmurs, looking directly into my eyes. "Because I'm not so sure. The moment you got Ollie, you dropped me. You stopped caring about me, about my feelings. And maybe it's because you didn't need me. You'd gotten what you wanted, and I wasn't of any use anymore."

"No-"

But she cuts me off. "And you know what? I hated myself for falling for Patrick. I did everything I could not to, because you're my best friend and because I knew it would hurt you, but I just couldn't help the way I felt. I think I'm in love with him, but I still broke up with him, for you, because I couldn't stand lying to you and betraying you like that. But now? I don't know why the hell I cared so damn much."

Bridge flies past me, grabbing her handbag from the table, tossing her coat over her shoulders, and storms out the door.

I'm mute.

Stuck.

Completely unsure if anything I do can fix the situation.

"Bridge!" I call, pivoting on my heels, trying to follow her, because even if I don't know what to say, I have to say something.

The door slams in my face.

I rip it open, but Bridge's long legs have already carried her to the elevator, which must have been sitting there waiting, like the world somehow knew Bridge would need a quick escape. I sprint, chasing after her, but the doors are already sliding closed by the time I get there. The last thing I see before they shut is Bridge's face, covered in tears, lips quivering, with green eyes that look utterly broken.

I stand in front of the elevator, staring at the space where she was, unable to remove the image from my sight. Because I thought she looked shattered after that double date with John, but that was absolutely nothing compared to this. And she was right. I've been selfish. I've been cruel. I've been terrible. And I don't deserve her forgiveness. I really, truly don't. After everything we've been through together, I might have actually lost her for good.

My eyes burn by the time I finally blink and turn back toward the apartment, shuffling like the walking dead into my living room. My eyes search for Ollie because I need him, I need his arms wrapped around me, I need his comfort. But when I find him standing across the room, arms crossed, eyes wide with disbelief, filled with hurt, I realize Bridge might not be the only thing I've lost.

The worst night of my life is only just beginning.

Ever since Ollie and I got together, I've been pushing him away. I've been guarded. I've been scared. I've been testing his limits, trying to see what he would put up with, to see if he'd meant all the things he said that night he told me he loved me. I didn't believe what he told me could possibly be real. I never fully trusted him with my heart. But then, just like that, things changed. I did trust him. I did have faith in us. I do. And now it's too late, because something I never thought possible happened-I broke his heart instead.

Six weeks ago, Oliver McDonough told me he loved me.

Six weeks ago, I walked into this apartment with my heart broken, only to find him here, waiting for me, surrounded by roses and candlelight, my hero out of a dream.

Six weeks ago, the air around us was electrified with unspoken attraction, taut and tense, full of bated breath and butterflies we could no longer ignore.

But tonight, when I walk into this apartment with my heart broken, there are no roses, no candles, no romantic gestures and professions of love. There's space. There's Ollie, the boy who told me he loved me, the man I've loved for most of my life, looking at me like I've stomped all over his dreams. And lingering in the air, surrounding us on all sides, are the words I said to him six weeks ago, words we've never really spoken about, words I don't think we can ignore any longer. Because when Ollie first told me he loved me, I told him I didn't believe him, and I let him walk out the door. Sure, I chased after him. Sure, I told him it was a mistake and that I loved him too. Sure, we pretended it didn't happen. But it did. And I never realized until right now that what I said in the heat of the moment has stayed with us.

"Ollie?" I ask timidly, afraid to step closer.

He turns away from me, lifting his hand, running his fingers through his hair, fussing with the silky black tendrils because he doesn't know what to say or how to say it, because he's stalling. Then he sighs, dropping his palm. "What the hell was that?"

I close my eyes, swallowing. "I don't know."

"We had a plan. We talked about it the entire car ride home. Everything was set. I thought we were ready, I thought you were ready."

"I was. I am," I say, leaning closer, but he's still as a statue, watching me move without showing any signs of the same yearning. I plant my feet, giving him the space he wants. "I don't know what happened. I got scared, and I just reacted. I barely even knew what I was saying, I was just saying it, too lost in my own head to register the situation."

He swivels his jaw slowly, thinking. "Why didn't you tell me about Bridge and Patrick?"

I bite my lip, wincing subtly. "I'm not sure."

But Ollie knows me too well. And he's never let me off the hook before. "Yes, you are."

"I only found out last weekend. That night with Blythe? That's why we went out and got so drunk together. I was upset and hurt, and I don't know. I guess, I knew Bridge would react like this, so I thought if I could out her secret too, she'd see we'd both been in the wrong."

"And I would what? Just get shot in the crossfire?"

"No," I say, reaching toward him before pulling my arms back into my chest, over my heart, as though they could hold it together. "No, I wasn't thinking."

"You were thinking," he says, a dark humor coloring his words. "Just not about me. About everyone else except me."

I have no response.

Because he's right.

In all my worrying and all my doubting and all my plotting, I've been thinking a whole lot about myself and disgustingly little about the man I'm supposed to love.

"Do you miss him?" Ollie whispers.

My eyes snap up from the floor, shocked. "No."

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

"No," I urge, completely honest. Because I don't miss Patrick, and I don't have feelings for him. None of this was ever about Patrick.

"If you weren't jealous, why were you so mad at Bridge?"

"I know it looks bad," I admit. "But I promise, what I said to Bridge was about me and her, not about him, not even a little bit. I was mad at her for lying, for going behind my back, for not saying anything. And I was being a complete hypocrite. But really, I don't care if she's with him, I don't. Because I love you, and you're the only person I want to be with, you're the only man I care about right now."

"If you love me," he murmurs, voice raw, "then why did you turn today into an argument about your ex-boyfriend? Why didn't you wait until later to talk to Bridge about that? Why didn't you keep the focus on us and the fact that we're in love and the idea that we want to be together?"

"I don't-"

But he shakes his head, cutting me off, because he doesn't want to hear another non-answer. "Do you even know how much I've been looking forward to today? Do you even realize how much I wanted to tell Bridge? Do you understand how much this meant to me?"

No.

I didn't.

But I do now, staring into his shattered turquoise eyes, eyes that just hours ago were filled with so much hope and so much love, so much more than I ever even realized.

"No," Ollie continues. "Because if you loved me, and if you knew what today meant to me, then you never would have acted like this. If you understood, then you wouldn't have made it about you and Bridge, or Bridge and Patrick, or Patrick and you. It would have been about you and me and Bridge and nothing else, no one else."

"Ollie," I croak, voice stilted because I'm having trouble drawing in air. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've been an idiot. I've been so selfish. I've only been thinking about myself. I-I-"

But there's a lump in my throat that keeps me from going any further, because I already know what he's going to say next. My jaw clenches tight, torn, as my heart stops beating, anticipating the crushing blow.

"I love you, Skye, and I really thought that would be enough," he confesses softly. "But maybe it's not."

I wobble on my feet, not sure I can survive any more.

Ollie falls back into the couch, landing hard, pressing his elbows to his knees and hanging his head in his hands, losing strength, losing hope.

"I've tried everything I can think of," he whispers, still hiding his face behind his hands, unable to look at me. "I know you're nervous, I know you're scared, but I really thought that in time, you'd get beyond that. I really thought you'd see how great we are together. I really thought I'd make you believe in us the way I do, I thought somehow I'd make you see. But you don't, do you?"

I'm suddenly next to him on the couch, grabbing his perfectly callused chef's hands in my petite ones, holding on to his fingers for dear life, pleading with him to not give up on me. My whole body is curled toward him, silently begging, but his is facing away, a wall.

"I do, Ollie, I do."

He looks at me, blue eyes piercing. "I really don't think so. Because to me, you're Skye-this beautiful, crazy, funny, amazing, and exasperating woman that I can't get out of my head. But to you, I'm Oliver McDonough, Bridge's brother, untouchable. Because if I was just Ollie to you, just another guy, just someone you loved, then you would have put me first, the way I've been trying my best to put you first."

I open my mouth to respond, but he sees and pushes on.

"When it was just the two of us, alone together, talking or laughing or kissing, there were moments when I thought you were finally seeing the real me, that I was finally seeing the real you. There were moments when it was so perfect. But then there are moments like this, when you become the girl I don't recognize, the one who's hiding and shying away, the one who's still stuck in the past. And that girl? I don't think she'll ever be able to forgive me. I don't think we'll ever be able to get rid of her."

"You're right," I say, lifting my palms to his now wet cheeks, forcing him to hold my eyes, to see the truth buried in my soul, the truth I've only just come to understand. "You're so right, and you haven't deserved any of this. But for four years, I had to tell myself every day to forget you. I had to tell myself every day that you were nothing but a pipe dream, that you didn't want me, that we were never going to happen. Because I kissed you, I opened myself up to you, and you rejected me, you shut me down. And I replayed that scene in my head so many times, reminding myself that you broke my heart, reminding myself not to hope because it would only hurt me in the end. And then six weeks ago, you told me you loved me, and you changed everything. But those four years were never going to disappear overnight. Three words, no matter how amazing they are, weren't going to be big enough to erase them. But our time together has. And you might not believe me, but it's true. I realized today that I was ready to let the fear go, that I was ready to let that insecure and hurt girl go, because I do love you. And I do believe in us. And I know it took me a while to get here, but you changed me, you opened my heart back up, and this afternoon I saw what a life together could look like, and I want it. Not secret, not hidden, but out in the open, together, us."

Ollie's features soften. His cool, blue eyes turn a warm sapphire as though lit by the sun. His pursed lips fall just slightly apart, and his furrowed brows ease apart. I keep holding on to his muscular hands, squeezing, as hope swells in my chest, a rising tide that I want to crash over both of us. But then his hair falls over his eyes, a curtain, cutting him off. And the moment is broken.

Ollie sits back.

He slips his fingers from my grip.

"Do you remember what I asked you that night?" he murmurs.