I finally got that chance at the end of the summer, only because I crashed Ethan’s parents’ beach party in the Hamptons. Now I realize I need that closure with Michael too. Just as he needs it with me.

“After everything that happened, I can’t let you think that you were just part of some pissing match between me and Ethan.” He moves toward me again, and this time I let him take my hands.

“Ethan was your best friend. Your best friend.”

Michael’s chin dips a little. “I know. It was a dick move.”

I snort. “What we did is so far beyond a dick move, I don’t even know that there are words for it.”

The room falls silent.

“I know,” Michael says finally.

“Then why? I mean, I know I’m not blameless, but you initiated. I’m not mad, I just . . . why, Michael?”

And even though I ask, even though I know he needs to say it and I need to hear it so I can help us both move on, I don’t want him to say it. Don’t say it, I silently beg him. Please don’t.

But Michael doesn’t register my silent plea. As good a friend as he was over the years, as close as we were, he never could read me. Not like that.

“Because I loved you,” Michael says, the simplicity of the statement almost breaking me. “I still love you.”

I close my eyes. “For how long? When did it start?”

Michael shrugs. “Always.”

Jesus.

His hands tighten on mine. “Liv. I have to know. Do you . . . can you . . . do you love me, Liv? Do you love me?”

Oh God.

I want to lie. I want to spare my best friend the searing hurt that the truth will unleash. But I can’t. I owe it to him—and to myself too—to be honest.

“No,” I say softly. “I didn’t. I don’t. Not like that.”

And then I wait for him to ask me. I wait for him to ask me why, if I didn’t return his feelings, I let him kiss me. Why I kissed him back.

I brace myself, but the question never comes. Maybe he can’t bear to hear it. And oddly enough, although I should be relieved at having gotten a reprieve, I almost wish he would demand answers. Because I’m finally ready to give them.

Michael’s eyes turn on me, and though the hurt is still there, anger mingles there too. I belatedly realize that there’s something different about Michael. It’s like he’s changing in front of my eyes. But no, that’s not quite right either . . . he was different from the moment I saw him today. If Ethan was always the easygoing charmer, Michael was like his edgier half—still charming, but his wit had a more acerbic edge to it. Not unlike Paul, come to think about it.

But now? There’s a darkness settling into his features. The edges are sharper; the cynicism that he always used as humor now seems more deep-rooted and mean.

I did that, I realize. All this time, I’ve been so busy trying to cope with the pain I caused Ethan that it never even occurred to me that I did some serious damage to Michael too. I had two best friends in the world, and I managed to treat both of them like garbage: Ethan by betraying him, Michael by walking away.

His jaw shifts slightly from left to right and back again, the way he does when he’s trying to control his rather formidable temper. He lets go of my hands, jerks back, and gives a self-depreciating laugh. “To think of the way I rushed up here like some knight in shining armor, thinking you wanted me. Needed me.”

I step toward him. Don’t do this. I’m not worth it.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say hurriedly. “And yet . . . maybe I’m glad. Maybe this can be closure.”

I reach out a hand to him again, my heart hurting, but he backs up again.

“I thought you needed time, Liv.” Michael’s voice is rough. “I’ve held back, thinking you needed to forgive yourself, and me, for what we did. But I thought . . . I really thought that when you let Ethan go, I’d be the one you reach for.”

I close my eyes. Can this get any worse?

“But it was never going to be me, was it?” he asks.

When I open my eyes, the tears spill out. “No,” I say quietly.

Michael seems to harden before my very eyes. He swallows once, twice. And then with a jerk of his chin, as if that’s the only goodbye he can manage, he opens the door and walks out. Just like that, he’s gone.

I press my hand to my mouth. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never see my best friend again.

And it’s all Paul Langdon’s fault.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Paul

Of all the shitty things I’ve done in my life, and there are a few, this is the shittiest.

I don’t know what I was thinking would happen. That we’d all sit down around the dining table and I’d amuse myself at the little melodrama going on around me? That Olivia would all of a sudden open up, tell me all of her secrets, and explain what exactly it is that drove her to Maine to be my babysitter?

You’d think I’d have learned my lesson about giving Liv her privacy after texting Michael, but I’m an ass. So I eavesdropped. I listened in on the whole damn thing.

Olivia cheated on Golden Boy with Michael. And then I forced them into the same room together. I thought I was an ass, but that doesn’t even begin to describe what I am. By the time I realized just how major an apology was due, Michael was nowhere to be seen, and Olivia had locked herself in her room.

She’s been in there for two hours. I know because I’ve been sitting on the other side of the door for all 120 minutes of that time. For every single one of those minutes, she’s been crying. And not delicate, girly sniffles. We’re talking big, heart-wrenching sobs.