When I make my way outside the bar, I find Edward with his back against the brick of the building, hands in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes immediately pierce me.

"Hey." I stand in front of him, regarding him carefully. "You turned your phone off?"

"No."

"It went to voicemail after I called, so..."

"I think we were trying to call each other at the same time."

"Oh."

We fall quiet, and it's obvious he's not gonna be the one to keep the conversation going.

"I thought you left," I say softly. "I was worried. I thought—"

"I wouldn't just leave you," he says, face serious. "But I also didn't want to interrupt. You looked… busy."

"I wasn't."

"You were talking to someone."

I hesitate. "That was Ben."

Edward really focuses on me now, eyes a bit narrowed. So maybe he didn't know it was Ben after all.

"I don't like him," he says finally, looking away.

"You don't have to. But I do. Or I at least have to be friendly."

"Friendly includes letting him buy you a drink?"

"Edward," I say softly. "It's not like that."

His jaw tenses. "Are you sure he knows that?"

I think back to the vibe I got from Ben, the one that pushed me to end our conversation early, and add, "Even if it's not innocent on his part, I'm not interested."

"Did he hit on you?"

"No. Just because a dude is talking to me doesn't mean he wants to get into my pants."

"Right, because guys want to be just friends with attractive females," he deadpans.

The wind picks up, blowing my hair around my face. I fall silent at his words, regarding him carefully. He's definitely drunk. I mean, so am I. But I've never really seen him like this before—visibly annoyed and frustrated with me. He's also never really spoken to me this way, so brazen and clearly full of anger. It takes me aback, and I reach down, grabbing for his hand. He lets me hold it, even entwining his fingers tighter around mine.

"Ben isn't a problem, okay? People can be friends," I mumble. "You and I were friends for years."

He gives me a very pointed look. "Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

His features have softened a little, his anger fading slightly. "Ask me how long I was into you before we got together."

"I don't know," I say, trying to deflect from the rapid beating in my chest. "I don't want to know." Of course I want to know, but there's no way whatever he's going to say isn't gonna hurt. From the way he's staring at me, he's going to say it was a very long time before I caught on, and I don't know if my heart can take that right now.

He exhales, small smirk on his lips, like he's not surprised I'm being stubborn about this. "You got in my head early on. Like, those first few months of living together."

"I didn't know." I stare down at my too-tall shoes. "You didn't act like it."

"I mean... I kinda did. You just didn't pick up on it. Besides, I wasn't trying to fuck up our living situation. And being your friend was enough for a while, only because you opened up to me more as a friend than you probably would have if we were dating," he says gently, somehow knowing me better than I know myself. "That doesn't mean if you came to me years ago, I would've turned you down. I would've been with you in a heartbeat, if you had been ready back then."

"Please stop," I mumble, moving closer and pressing both hands against his chest as I look up at him.

He dips his head, staring down at me. "Why?"

"Because it's hard to hear."

Because it makes me wanna go back to the beginning, to first knowing him. I want to redo everything, maybe change fate. I'd work on myself long before he comes into the picture, so I'm happy and healthy and emotionally stable. And that's all it really is, right? It was me, this entire time. My own issues, my own self-doubt keeping us apart.

I feel his hand snake around the back of my waist the same moment the Uber pulls up to the curb.

"Come home with me. Please?" I ask, stepping backward.

"That was the original plan, wasn't it? One drink, then home." His breath appears with his exhale. "Not go have a second drink with the overly-flirty boss."

"I looked for you. I didn't see you, and I was gonna—"

"You weren't looking hard enough then."

I close my mouth. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to piss you off. Please come home with me?"

His nod is solemn as he pushes off the building, hand on the small of my back to guide me. When we reach the car, he opens the door and lets me slide in first. We sit close—the driver fumbling with the radio, telling us to let him know if we want to change the music.

After a minute, I turn to Edward, watching the lights from beyond the window flicker across his face.

"I'm sorry I was getting jealous," he says, eyes still out the window. "I just… I'm worried. About leaving, about you moving on. It's fucking with me."

I appreciate how honest he's being, how vulnerable he is. He has the ability to recognize his feelings so easily, and I kind of envy him for it.

"Don't be sorry. I get it. I'd be upset too," I whisper, so tempted to reach for his hand again. "Did you have fun at your party?" I change the subject, so he'll just talk to me and forget about all the bad shit.

"Yeah."

"I didn't realize so many people liked you," I muse, poking a little fun to further lighten the mood.

"Shut up," he says, voice low but slightly amused. "It's very Esme to invite everyone we know. She's always been like that—birthdays, graduations. She thinks every celebration deserves a crowd."

"Your mom really loves you, you know that?" I say it offhandedly, to drive the point home that throwing him such a wonderful party was thoughtful. I don't realize it's going to cause such a pang in my chest until after I say it.

He glances over. "My mom loves you, too." I don't know what I can say to this, so I opt for nothing. "Just because I'm leaving, it doesn't mean you can't still hang with my parents."

"That wouldn't be weird?"

"No. My parents still want you to hang out, keep them company. If it's weird, you don't have to. But the option is there. I know Em is still gonna pester them, but mostly because he loves a free meal."

I nod. "I guess the next year will be a little quiet for them until you're back."

When I say it, his gaze grows distant. "Shit," he breathes. I watch his face, watch him war internally with himself. "Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know if that's happening now."

"What?" My pulse spikes with slight excitement, because for a moment I think he's saying he's not leaving after all. Judging by the look on his face, I realize what he's saying isn't necessarily good news. "I thought… I mean, you're coming back after a year, right?"

"That was the plan, but I'm not sure I necessarily need to be in Seattle again. I mean, maybe down the road. But it's not really a priority anymore. Not like it was when we were together."

"Oh." I try to keep my face stoic, but it's hard not to let the disappointment show. It makes sense. Really, it does. I'm not sure why I assumed he'd come back for me when I've been so blatantly scared about being with him and pushed him away. We broke up, and we haven't talked about what it would look like for us when—if—he transferred to the Seattle office. "Why didn't you tell me before now?"

"When was I supposed to mention it? We haven't necessarily spent much time together since we broke up."

"Okay. Yeah. It's fine," I say, sounding anything but fine. "Stay in LA. It's probably better that way. I just didn't realize the plan changed, that's all."

"I didn't realize you wanted to be part of the plan," he says sadly.

"I just… it doesn't matter anymore."

"Anymore? I'd like to know when any of this mattered to you at all."

I glare. "What do you mean? Everything between us mattered. Everything."

"You have a funny way of showing it." He glares back. "The plan only changed when you ended things with me. Otherwise, I would've transferred back for you. So, please don't think I was going to abandon you this whole time."

"I only ended things after you lied to me."

"And I apologized."

"Only after I called you out."

"You know why I didn't tell you, Bella. I'm so sorry—I really am, but I can't keep beating myself up over one mistake. And I wish you'd stop punishing me for it."

"And I," I point toward the driver, "don't really want to talk about this anymore."

"I don't give a shit about him," he says, but his voice has lowered. "Talk to me."

I blow out an annoyed sigh. "About what? You're moving tomorrow, and you decided not to come back. What else is there to cover?"

"I don't know… fuck." He pulls off his beanie and tugs at his hair, turning away from me for a second. "I'm pissed."

"Me too."

"I'm pissed at you."

"What?"

"We spent the last few weeks apart and in this awkward limbo. It's fucking bullshit, Bella. I would've never treated you that way if the roles were reversed."

"Well, if the roles were reversed, I would've never lied to you."

"I get it—I fucked up. And you're still pushing me away. So why are you surprised and hurt that I'm not transferring after a year?" He throws his hands in the air, frustrated. "You expected me to come back to Seattle, move into our shitty house, and pine over you while you fucking flirt with your boss? Sorry, not gonna happen. Not anymore."

"I don't know what I thought," I snip back, annoyed at the both of us. "I thought… maybe… I'd go to therapy, and you'd come back in a year, and we'd be good."

He stares back, and it's unnerving how long he holds my gaze. "That's news to me."

I look away. "Yeah, well."

"Please don't try to make me feel guilty."

"I'm not. I'm also not trying to fight with you the night before you fly out."

"We aren't fighting."

"Well, we aren't happy."

He blows out an exasperated breath."That was your decision. All of this is your decision, Bella."

"No, it's not. This isn't what I want," I mutter. "Not at all."

"Then change!" he nearly roars.

Tears sting my eyes. "I'm trying."

"No, you're not."

"I am. I'm in therapy. People can't just change overnight, Edward." It's a low blow, but I still say, "Look at Renee."

"People can change, if they want. Renee is choosing not to. You're choosing not to," he huffs then takes a second to collect himself. "Just tell me one thing—if that shit hadn't happened with Kate, and I were only moving to LA for the year, would we still be together?"

I stare at him, at his sad, beautiful face. I want so badly to say yes, of course, we'd still be together. But I don't know if that's honest. Because I probably would've found a way to fuck it up regardless. Instead of admitting that, I say nothing. Because silence is better than lying.

A moment passes, and his gaze falls between us in understanding.

"Look," he says gently. "I can't be your friend anymore. Not after knowing what it's like to be more than that with you."

I bite the inside of my cheek. "What are you saying?"

"We shouldn't talk once I move. I know you said he's your boss, but seeing you talk to someone else who is clearly into you… hurt," he says simply, voice gritty. "It hurt. And I don't really want to have to think about that or hear about it once I'm gone."

Tears burn my eyes. "Okay. So that's it? We'll just pretend we're strangers? I lose you completely?"

"I guess." He sighs, looking completely defeated. "I don't know what else to do, Bella."

Pointing it out doesn't make me feel any better but, "On Thanksgiving, you were the one who said you wanted to be friends."

"I know. I thought I could be your friend again. Turns out, you aren't the only one who needs self-preservation," he murmurs.

I turn away, and we're done talking after that. I can't argue with him for needing space the way I did. And I can't blame him for not wanting to see me again or hear from me. I've given him zero hope for us. It was only a matter of time before he decided he didn't want to wait around.

My own self-preservation kicks in, and I decide maybe he's right. Maybe we can't be friends because it shouldn't be this hard. It used to be easy and fun, and then we fucked it up with emotions and sex. Now, all we're destined for is being strangers who once had feelings until pride got in the way.

XXX

When we pull up to the house, I tip the driver more than I normally would for having to endure the awkward conversation in his back seat. His eyes find mine in the rearview mirror as he mutters a good night.

The house is dark and quiet when we walk in. Edward busies himself with pouring some water from the tap, and I realize the time above the stove reads 12:16 a.m. So when others were celebrating the start of the new year with all the wonder and expectations it brings, Edward and I were in the backseat, arguing.

Wonderful.

"Happy New Year," I mutter, slipping out of my shoes and letting them fall on the floor with a thud.

Edward's eyes flash to the clock. "Yeah. I guess so."

I linger, maybe in hopes that he'll start up the conversation again, maybe change his mind about the whole friends thing. But he doesn't. Instead he takes his water and disappears into his room, shutting the door behind him.

I do the same, taking off my jacket and tossing it on the floor. When I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror, my cheeks are red, and my eyes are glassy. I don't look or feel like myself, and nothing about this night feels like us.

When I pull open my dresser drawer to change, I find Edward's T-shirt on top. I pick it up, bringing it to my face. It doesn't smell like him anymore, and neither does my bed; they never will again. In mere hours, the house will be completely empty of him. I won't find him drinking coffee at the kitchen table, won't have him down the hall to pester. There will be no more dinners together, no movie marathons. No drunk celebrations or nights out just because.

No best friend. No Edward. Nothing.

Suddenly the reality of everything—him actually leaving and no longer wanting to be friends—truly hits me, and I lose it. I cry so hard, using his shirt to muffle the sounds. My throat feels like it's on fire, and my chest feels so heavy. I sit on my bed, shaking and sniffling, and it seems like this feeling will never end. And yes, maybe I'm feeling fucking sorry for myself. Which I know is stupid because all of this could've been avoided if I just put a little faith into him for once, and put a little faith into myself.

Eventually I have nothing left to cry out. But my heart still hurts, and my head still hurts, and everything hurts.

Before I can overthink, I head down the hallway to his room. I knock on his door twice and listen. When he doesn't respond, I knock again—louder.

Finally it swings open, and I find a shirtless, somewhat annoyed Edward standing in front of me. His annoyance immediately fades when he takes in my tear-stained face and red nose.

"I found this," I say, tossing it at his chest.

He bends down to pick it up off the floor, handing it back gentler than I did. "Keep it."

"I don't… want it." I blink, and anger sinks in. Rose acted like I was the one giving mixed signals, but he's worse at it. "I don't want any of it—your fucking shirt or your car or your parents. Stop giving me all of these things if you don't want me."

"Of course I want you. Jesus. That's all I fucking want."

He crosses the room and slips back into bed, leaving the door open. I'm just standing here, like the old days when we'd talk and flirt, and he'd make invitations about sleeping in his bed. But I never thought he was serious, so I never took him up on them.

I take in his bare room. The shelves and walls are empty—just a lone suitcase sitting in the corner. He's leaving all his furniture to the new guy renting the room. It's so disorienting to imagine someone else living and breathing in this space.

Edward shifts on the mattress, questioning eyes on me. I should walk back down the hall, slide into bed, and pass out. But part of me doesn't want to. Part of me wants to crawl next to him and hold him. I don't know if he'd let me, but I have to ask.

"Edward?" I murmur, voice quiet and questioning. My eyes shift toward his bed, toward him. He must understand because after a moment, all he does is audibly exhale and pull back the blanket just enough for me to know what he's offering.

My features soften, and my chest grows warm at his invitation, even if it was initiated by me.

"Can I—" I pause, not caring if his eyes are still on me as I unzip my dress and pick up the shirt he was wearing tonight, pulling it over my head.

I carefully crawl into his bed, scooting closer and curling my body against his. My stomach flips at the contact. Despite whatever internal war he's having with himself, seconds pass, and his body relaxes. He pulls me closer, tightening his grip around me. My heart soars at how easily he welcomes me back.

"Sorry," I say, but I'm not even sure what I'm apologizing for. "Is this okay?" I ask, desperate for him to say yes as I bury my face against his chest. "I just… want to sleep in the same bed with you on your last night. Okay? That's all. I want to be close to you."

After a moment, I feel him nod.

"Okay."

Our bodies stay tangled, close. And for the tiniest moment before I fall asleep, in his shirt and in his arms, it feels like I'm his. It's the most whole I've felt in over a month.

It's still Monday!

Woof. Thank you for reading, and Hadley for helping!