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“My entire fucking life imploded, and all you can think about is how it affected you?”

His face falls further.

“Max, I didn’t mean—”

“Really? Are you just like everyone else now? So wrapped up in your own shit that you can’t see past it long enough to realize that maybe what happened had nothing to do with you?”

Shame washes over him.

And God, it hurts. It hurts so fucking much.

Unable to witness his grief any longer, I turn away before I do something stupid.

Like apologize.

Or tell him the truth.

But Milo catches my wrist and spins me back around.

“You’re right.”

I stare at him, my breathing coming out fast and hard.

“Okay? You’re right. I’m sorry.”

My jaw clenches because I know he means it.

Milo always means everything he says. He doesn’t have it in him to lie.

I wish I could say I was as noble.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m making this about me when it isn’t. I just…” He exhales roughly. “I want to understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“There is to me.” He searches my face. “I just want to know if there’s any way we can get back to who we were.”

No. That girl is dead. And no matter how badly he wants her back, I have no idea how to resurrect her.

“Let me go, Milo.” My gaze drops pointedly to his hand around my wrist.

He looks down too, his fingers loosening in an instant.

“I can’t do that,” he whispers, even as he releases me. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

I swallow against the ache in my throat.

“Can you just answer one thing for me?”

I say nothing.

“Do you miss me?”

My chest squeezes to the point that even the air I breathe into my lungs feels like razor blades cutting me open.

“Even a little?”

I keep my face blank.