Then I let it out.

The hurt, anger, sadness and the loneliness of it all.

I missed him.

I missed him so damn much, and I couldn't even cry openly about it. My tears landed on the glass of the frame, and I wiped them with my thumb.  "You asshole," I whispered, figuring if I could feel his presence in the room, then maybe he could hear me, wherever he was. "I hate you." Lie.

Then I saw the box I'd put his birthday present in. It was the last thing I’d given him.

Stupid present.

Stupid stethoscope.

I laughed bitterly, and studied my wrists.

Stupid.

I cried so hard that I ended up in a ball on the floor. I don't know how long I was there for, until finally, the sobs wore me out and I fell asleep.

***

The vibrating of my phone woke me, right before music filled throughout the small space of the closet. I was in a daze of half-sleep before I realized what was happening. My head pounded and my eyes hurt. I felt drunk, but I wasn't.

I was just stupid.

I picked up the phone and sat up—and only then did I work out that Hey There Delilah was playing.

For some reason, I smiled. "Tyson." I spoke quietly into the phone.

"Dimmy," he sighed out. He was less enthusiastic than I was. Something was wrong.

"Tyson? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Looked like I wasn't the only one in the mood for lying.

I stayed quiet and waited. Tyson was like that; he just needed time.

I heard him sniff. "I just walked in on Ally and some guy in our bed."

"Oh my God."

"It's our fucking apartment, Dimmy. She was fucking some guy in a space we shared."

My blood boiled. "Fuck her."

He chuckled, but it was sad. "So lady-like."

"Seriously, Ty. If that's how she treats you, fuck her."

"I think some asshole already did."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"So what are you going to do?"

"No idea."

"Are you kicking her out?"

"The lease is in her name. I just packed some shit and now I'm sitting on a park bench with two bags and my guitar like an upper-class, street-performing bum."

I snorted.

"Not funny, Dim."

"Sorry."

He exhaled loudly.

"What about classes?"

"I'm done. I don't even have to be here to graduate."

The words were out before I could stop them. "Move in here. We have a spare room."

3

I picked him up from the airport and brought him home. Ethan was fine with him living with us. He and Tyson had always gotten along, so it was never really a question.

Then the awkward moment of which room he was going to have took place. The three of us stood in the hallway, eying each other. It was almost like Logan's room was haunted. Tainted. Ruined.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Ty asked. He smiled sadly at me.

"You take it," Ethan said to me. It was an order.

"What?" I panicked.

"You have to get over it at some point. This is step one." He walked away.

"Is he okay?" Tyson's eyes moved from Ethan to me.

I shrugged. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. He just seems . . ." He laughed once. "Older?"

I rolled my eyes. "He thinks he's my dad now."

"Oh," is all he said. He walked into my room—or my old room, now, and I walked into mine. It should have been ours.

***

"When did you get a car?" Tyson flopped down on the sofa next to me. It only took him an hour or so to unpack his bags and move my things to my new room. Logan had emptied out most of his stuff; he didn't have much.

"A couple of weeks ago."

"It's nice."

"Thanks," I replied, not wanting to go into detail. I feigned interest in whatever was on TV. Baseball. Great.

Ty cleared his throat. "Did he pick it out himself?"

My eyes snapped to his.

"Ethan told me," he stated.

"Geez, gossip much?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know. His friends dropped it off . . ." I trailed off, watching his face for any emotion. I couldn't see any, but he looked tired, more mature. He wasn't the lively Tyson I'd known when we dated. The Tyson I knew was a boy; the one sitting in front of me was all man. He'd gotten bigger, more masculine. He’d been a jock most of high school, but in his junior year, he’d decided to focus on his music. He'd always been good at both, but he was amazing with his guitar.

"What?" he asked.

I must have been staring at him. His deep brown eyes bore into mine. "Nothing."

He laughed quietly. "Were you just checking me out?"

"No!" I yelled, and then laughed. It felt so good to laugh.

"I miss that sound," he said.

My lips thinned to a line.

He blew out a breath and rested his head on the back of the sofa. "What the hell happened to us?"

I mimicked his position. "I know, right?"

"Dimmy . . . I'm not saying this to make you feel like shit or anything . . . but do you ever wonder? I mean, do you ever think about where we'd be if we’d stayed together?" He rolled his head to the side and faced me.

I did the same. "Sometimes," I told him honestly.