Page 54 of Down, Boy

I grab it and toss it onto the coffee table. "Stop using my own words against me."

"Stop being stubborn." She retrieves the phone and sets it pointedly next to my wine glass.

We sit in silence for a while, passing the ice cream back and forth, eating directly from the pint because we're adults and we can do what we want.

"He said he loves me," I say eventually.

Sophie nearly chokes on her wine. "What?"

"Tonight. During the fight. He said he loves me."

"And you said?"

"Nothing. I told him to leave."

"Callie Marie O'Connor."

"I know."

"That man stood in your kitchen and told you he loves you and you sent him away?"

"I panicked!"

"Clearly." She sets down her glass. "What do you want, Cal? Not what you think you should want. Not what's safe or logical or makes sense. What do you actually want?"

I lean back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling.

What do I want?

I want Dean's laugh. I want his terrible jokes and his patient hands and the way he looks at me like I'm the punchline he's been waiting for. I want more lake days and more coffee visits and more mornings waking up to his heart beating under my palm.

I want to not be scared all the time.

I want to believe that wanting something doesn't mean I'll lose it.

"I want him," I whisper. "God, I want him. And it terrifies me."

Sophie wraps her arms around me, and I let myself cry—really cry—for the first time since Dean walked out the door.

When I'm done, mascara smeared and tissues scattered around us like casualties, I feel somehow lighter. Emptier, but cleaner.

"What do I do?" I ask.

"I don't know, love." Sophie brushes hair off my forehead. "But you'll figure it out. You always do."

She stays until midnight, until the wine is gone and the ice cream is nothing but a memory and I've stopped crying. When she finally leaves, extracting promises to text her in the morning, the house feels too quiet.

The front porch is cool under my bare feet. Biscuit follows, nails clicking on wood. The night air is sharp, smelling like pine and spring rain. The mountains are dark shapes against darker sky, their snow-capped peaks barely visible in the moonlight.

Dean's truck is long gone. The road in front of my house is empty.

But I'm still here. Still standing. Still breathing.

Still terrified of how badly I want to say yes.

Biscuit nudges my leg, and I reach down to scratch behind his ears.

"What do you think, buddy? Am I making a huge mistake?"