I begin to walk to the bathroom and then turn abruptly and pick up my cell phone. I just need to hear her voice. That’s it. A little something to help me get a grip on my reality and remind me of that woman I used to be. Sassy and spunky. Not this whiny shadow of myself that I don’t even like.

I can’t seem to find and hold on to myself anymore.

Except for when I hear her voice.

Or that one night with Becks.

Gah! I dial my voice mail and fast-forward past the new messages I don’t want to listen to right now. There’s only one saved message I want to hear, and I don’t care how many times I replay it, my chest still constricts at the sound of her voice.

I listen to her ramble, her voice breathy from the exertion of speaking as she neared the end. She wanders in her message, inconsistency in her thoughts, but at my favorite part, my fingers clutch onto the phone. “Remember, Had. Time is precious. Waste it wisely.” She pauses while her breath rattles in her chest, the slight wheeze coming through the line that still squeezes my heart and brings those days flooding back. “I love you. To the moon and back’s not far enough, Had. I’ll always love you.”

The sob catches in my throat, and the chills race over my skin as I listen to my sister’s breaths while she fumbles to end the call. I drop to the bed, needing her in so many ways. She was my rock. The serious one so that I could be the funny, flippant one. I let a few tears fall before I wipe them away hastily, mad at myself for being sad at that lasting gift she left me in that voice mail.

The knock on my door startles me. I don’t want to talk to Dante right now. I just want to be left alone and fall into a dreamless slumber. I ignore the summons and crawl farther up onto my bed and pull the blankets up around me.

“Haddie, c’mon. … Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …” I hear him sigh on the other side of the door and what I can assume is his forehead hitting the wood. “Who am I kidding? Of course I meant to. It’s you, isn’t it? But I apologize. I shouldn’t have. It’s just being here brings it all back, and you’re just so fucking sexy … I just … Please, babe, talk to me …”

As much as it’s a slight shock to hear the never-wrong Dante Teller apologizing, the words do nothing to me. Nothing for me. They don’t pull me from the sadness that wraps around me like a blanket. I squeeze my eyes shut and throw one arm over my face in a fruitless attempt to protect myself from everything I don’t want to feel right now.

“Had …” His voice trails off while I sit with the covers pressed to my mouth and I wait him out, wanting to be alone. Needing to be alone. After a minute or so, I hear him sigh and then the sound of his feet padding down the hallway in retreat.

I suck in a breath of air as my body shudders with the violent sobs that I prevent myself from crying. And after a bit, I calm down some to realize night has descended and find myself staring at the ceiling in my darkened room. Time passes, and I really want to talk to Rylee right now. I need the even-keeled and sound advice of my closest friend to tell me that I’m being stupid. That I should take my own damn advice: live a little. That life begins at the end of my comfort zone.

I pick up the phone and dial, not sure if I’m looking to find where my comfort zone exactly is.

My mind-set wavers from wanting to needing. From being angry to being resigned. It doesn’t really matter what I feel, though, because when his voice fills the line, I feel completely alone in this room right now but at the same time not so isolated anymore.

“Hello?”

I struggle to find the right words to explain why I’m calling. Except I can’t find anything beyond the jumbled garble that fills my head, so I revert back to my new standby, sarcasm. “So you’re a constant rule breaker now, are you?” And I’m not sure where my anger comes from. I shouldn’t direct it at him, but I do. Unabashedly.

I hear shifting on the other end of the phone, and then the sound of a television fades as he moves away from it. Wait. Why is he moving away from the TV? Is she there with him right now?

“Had? You want to help me here?”

My emotions are in such a tumult that I don’t even realize that I’d planned on taking this conversation here until it’s too late. “Your rule number one: You don’t sleep with friends. Is she a friend, too?”

And I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I don’t think he can either because the line is silent as he processes my comment. “Is Dante a friend?” There is an edge to his voice this time when he speaks, exasperation mixed with irritation that has me chewing the inside of my cheek as I try to figure out what to say next.

How can I say he’s just a friend when I was going to use him an hour ago to get over the man I’m speaking with? “We weren’t talking about him.” I force the issue, not wanting to delve into the potluck of problems I have sitting on the table.

“Then we’re not talking about her. Besides, what’s it to you Haddie? I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, right? One night, no strings. So why do you care what Deena is to me?”

Ah, Ms. Exotic has a name. Deena? I hate the name Deena. Well, not really but I do now. I immediately imagine his voice moaning it, and I instantly feel sick to my stomach.

“You don’t get to keep me at arm’s length but then call dibs when it’s convenient for you,” he continues when I’m silent, lost in my thoughts.

“I’ve never done that!” A blatant lie but if I’m reaching, then I might as well stretch as far as I can.

“Bullshit, Montgomery. Dante or whatever the fuck his name is may mollycoddle you, stroke you when you need it but leave you alone otherwise, but I’m not like that. I’m not him. You can’t fuck with people’s emotions and expect them to want to be there for you, either.” He sighs out in frustration while I’m taken slightly aback by the bite to his tone.

“Who the hell mentioned emotions? Emotions weren’t included in my rules,” I say childishly.

“You want to talk about rules, Haddie? You want to know my rule number two? I don’t play games.”

“Hmpf.” It’s a disbelieving sound followed by a roll of my eyes he can’t see.

“Yeah. That’s one way to put it. Is there something else you called for besides trying to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong?”

I open my mouth and then shut it, unsure how calling him because I just needed to hear his voice has devolved so quickly into this. Into me scrambling for words I can’t find to fix shit that doesn’t need fixing.

Because I don’t want this. Don’t want him.

“Well, then, if you want to actually talk instead of pull this ridiculous bullshit, I’m here for you … but, Had …? Whatever this is here … this passive-aggressive crap? I don’t do too well with that. We had our one night. You made it quite clear you didn’t want anything more than that, so you don’t get to call me up and question what I might or might not be doing with anybody else. You want no strings? Then cut the ties … but frankly, I don’t think you know what the fuck you want. So until you figure your shit out, I think it’s best that we say good night before we make a bad situation even worse.”

“Wait!” Desperation rings in my voice in the single word. And I hate myself for sounding like this, but I’m so lonely, so scared, and just want the comfort I know he can bring me right now.

I wait for the sound of the dial tone to assault my ears. Wait for the incessant beep that reaffirms why I have barbed wire wrapped around my heart—painful but necessary. But there is nothing for a few moments until I hear the phone scrape against the stubble on his face.

And I wait … my throat burning with the tears I want to shed but am so sick of. The ones that no longer bring me comfort.

“I’m here, Haddie. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” The timbre of his voice carries his concern and sympathy to me through the line.

The incoherent sound I make is all I can offer to thank him for not hanging up on me. For not giving up on me.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?” he asks gently as if he’s afraid if he pushes too hard I’ll run away and hide. Just like I want to. How he has me pegged so well, I don’t know.

“I’m sorry.” My words are barely audible. I don’t even recognize my own voice, can’t come to grips with how this man I don’t want to let in has gotten under my skin.

Losing Lexi was one thing I couldn’t stop, but losing myself is something I never expected. And there’s something about Becks—his easygoing nature, his personality, his kindness—that has me reaching over my iron walls and wanting to connect. Wanting to reach for that shadow of myself that is floating away just beyond my reach.

The balloon without a string at the top of your ceiling. There. Present. But never within reach.

Until it deflates. Falls lifeless.

“Don’t be sorry, Had. Never be sorry for needing me.”

I don’t need you. The words are almost off my tongue. But the gentleness in his tone causes the pain to burn brighter.

“You want to talk about it?”

You have no idea. I want to explain this all to you. How I want you, how I’m scared, how if I give you the whys, I know you’ll give me the get-over-it speech, and that’s the one thing I’m sick of hearing. The “Lex is dead, Haddie. She’d want you to keep living, keep dreaming, keep going. Live for her. Get over it.”

And I’m not sure what’s worse to me. Him telling me that and ruining this perfect image I’m holding close of him or letting him in, allowing whatever this is to run its course and then devastate him like Lex’s death did Danny.