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I don’t think the Haywoods had a deadbolt Actually—I know they didn’t Why’d he change the lock?

He steps onto the porch and holds the door My eyes find his and plead His shift away He lets go of the door, and I push through it

“Cold out here,” I murmur

Maybe he ; blood is racing through my veins

He starts down the stairs, a step in front of me I realize he’s still shirtless The wind blows at us from the direction of my house, and I can see a shudder race across his shoulders

Sympathy for him Or empathy I don’t knohy My stupid heart won’t close its door

It’s aard now; I’ll have to break the ice again His shoulders hunch against the wind I tellas I have to Break the ice and break the ice, until he’s thawed enough that I can always reach him

When we’re halfway down the front porch stairs, I touch his elbow “Hey…”

His body stiffens as his eyes come reluctantly to mine

“What’s wrong?” I whisper

“Why would anything be wrong?”

My blood runs cold Even his voice is different I feel sweat pop out along my hairline

I wait a heartbeat for the swell of bravery I always feel around hi that makes me feel the way I used to back before the accident, back when I was everything I hoped to be and I had never lost enough to uess myself I look into his face and rab on and I’ll knohat to say, or what to do But nothing happens

He stares at me like I’m no one to him, and all I hear is what he said at my house

“We’re friends”