• • •

When I was fourteen, I had a breakdown. It was my first day of ninth grade in a new school, with classmates I didn't know and teachers who didn't know me. They spent the entire day hammering on about the importance of every moment of school, every homework and every quiz, until I couldn't see my own future through the fog of standardized tests and grueling days of work followed by unrelenting assignments.

When Dad picked me up at the school gates after eight hours of torture that had bled me dry of any reason and forced blind fear into every cell, I tried to put on a brace face. It lasted all of ten seconds, until he asked me how it had gone and I just crumbled. Before I cold manage a single coherent sentence, I was hyperventilating in the car.

Dad tried every trick in the book but I was freaking out and working myself into hysteria, so he pulled over three blocks from home and made me get out. Right there on the sidewalk in the middle of Queens, he held me and shushed me until I managed to breathe properly, until I grabbed hold of the reins on my spiraling anxiety. I can still feel that moment, more than five years later.

Dad never told me to man up or snap out of it; he never told me to act my age; he never needled me for answers. He just waited, he listened, and he told me to take it one day at a time. He told me that life can be overwhelming but every day brings new chances, every day a new opportunity to prove myself.

It helped. A lot.

It helped that he listened and he really heard me, that he cared when I shared my fears and he didn't brush me off. It helped that he gave me perspective. My dad showed me the importance of stepping back and taking a deep breath, and tackling my biggest problems one step at a time. He was calm and he was honest: when he had settled my frantic nerves, he told me that high school would be a tough few years, but he would always be right by my side to help me through.

When I was a panicked freshman, he was right where I needed him to be. When I was a struggling sophomore, he greeted me with a hug at the end of every day. When I was a stressed junior, he always knew exactly what to say.

When I was a grieving senior, I lost sight of his advice. He wasn't there when I could hardly bring myself to get out of bed each day, when I was trying to hold myself together for Mom and she was trying to keep us afloat. It wasn't until we put distance between ourselves and where we lost him that his words came back to me.

One step at a time. Everything in life can be tackled just one step at a time, as long as I keep moving forward.

Now, as I sit in the campus parking lot, Dad's words are a welcome weight on my shoulders. His advice is wrapped around me like one last hug I wish I could have gotten from him. He's there, somewhere, reaching out to me.

I jump out of my skin when a hand curls around mine.

"You've got this. Just one step at a time, Storie. That's all it takes."

The voice may belong to Gray, but the words are all Dad. I nod and fill my lungs with a breath so deep it hurts, only letting it out when I can't hold it any longer. That horrible burning ache doesn't leave my chest, but I can manage it. If nothing else, I've mastered the art of coping.

We get out of the car and the wind slaps my cheeks, punching my stomach so hard I'm knocked back a step. Gray zips up his hoodie. I battle the elements to pull on my coat, fighting the flapping material to button it up. January is brutal, inches of snow covering the ground that hasn't been salted or plowed; black ice hides beneath the deceptive white blanket.

But I have winter tires and winter boots and I can do this. I just don't want to. Because every time I'm sure of what I'm going to say when I see Liam for the first time in four weeks, I'm struck by another memory. When I want to tell him it's over for good, I remember how it felt to lie in his arms as he told me he loved me. When I'm ready to give him another chance, I remember that he already had a second chance, that he hurt me more than I ever thought he could.

It's not black and white. There's no clear cut answer to my feelings, no easy distinction between my head and my heart. I wish there was. It would make this so much easier.

Gray takes my hand and squeezes it. "Go with your gut," he murmurs, his words whipped away by the wind. "This is your life, Storie, no-one else's. You're in control."

He doesn't let go until it's time to go our separate ways, when he hugs me and kisses my cheek. "Text me. Or call me. Just ... come back to me."

"I will," I say, hoping my smile portrays more calmness that I feel. Because I feel like I'm harboring a tornado.

"Love you, Storie."

"Love you too, Gray."

And then he's gone, hunched over against the vicious gale to make his way to see Navya in the bookstore. I tuck my thumbs under the straps of my backpack and walk in the opposite direction, away from campus.

When I texted Liam yesterday, exactly a month after we last met, I wasn't sure of anything except that I didn't want to meet on campus, where everyone who knew what happened could see us and judge me. So we're meeting in the South Lakes café where we shared cake. The same café Gray and I were sitting in when I realized Liam was no stranger to the creep who turned out to be his roommate.

He's already there. My breath hitches in my throat when I see him standing outside the café and I have to suppress the urge to just let all of this slide. Sometimes I wish Navya had never called me that night. I wish she hadn't brought my happy illusion to its knees. I might never have found out the truth, and I might never have felt the agony it brought.

Liam spots me when I'm a few meters away and his face lights up, his back straightening when I near him. The joy on his face and the love in his eyes melts me for a moment, long enough for me to hug him, to lose myself in his embrace. In that moment, I forget my hurt. I lose sight of it long enough to tip my head back and see the guy I love, to close my eyes when he kisses me.

He holds me for a long time. I let him. His cheek rests on top of my head; his arms anchor me to his body. I don't want this moment, this feeling, to end. But it has to. I pull away first, forcing myself to hold his gaze when I say, "We need to talk."

He nods, slow and considerate. "You sit. I'll get us some drinks," he says. "Is that ok?"

My turn to nod. He joins the back of the short line and I shed my coat at a table near the window. Elbows on the table, I drop my hand into my hands and close my eyes to think, as though I'll suddenly be able to conjure up the words I've been struggling with for weeks. But it isn't long before Liam joins me, setting a tray between us. He's bought cake too. The same cake he brought to me after he hurt me the first time.

"Thanks," I murmur, pulling over a mug that looks more like a bowl with a handle. The hot chocolate warms my hands in an instant.

"How have you been?" he asks, testing the waters with a tentative question.

"Ok, I guess," I say. "All things considered." I take a sip, relishing in the warm cocoa that heats me from the inside out when I swallow. "Confused, to be honest. I've spent ... thirty days trying to work out what I want to say and honestly, I'm still not sure. But Christmas was nice, and New Year's." I look up from my mug. His eyes are so striking, swirling hazel green that penetrates my gaze. "How about you?"

He purses his lips and gently shrugs one shoulder. "I've missed you," he says. "I've really, really missed you. I've spent the past few weeks hating myself for what I did to you and trying to come up with any way I can make it up to you but short of inventing a time machine, I don't think there's anything I can do."

He's right. He could do anything and everything and it wouldn't take away from what he already did.

"I left the frat, by the way," he says, his voice so low that I almost don't hear him and it takes a moment for the words to sink in. Shock blooms across my face.

"You did?"

He nods, fidgeting with his receipt before he pushes it away and looks up. "Yeah."

"What about the brotherhood?" I try not to grimace with the question. I hate the cult of fraternity brotherhood, but I know how seriously Liam takes it.

"The brotherhood made me act like a jerk. It made me hurt the girl I love. Someone who deserves so much more, so much better than what I was."

"Wow. When did you leave?"

"The day I last saw you," he says. "I came to my senses. I know the frat's suspended anyway, but I don't want anything to do with it if it's reinstated."

"It will be, won't it?" I dig into my cake for something to do with my hands. "I mean, the college probably isn't going to let one stupid contest bring down their biggest frat if there aren't even consequences when guys are hazed to death."

Liam sighs. "Probably. And I am so sorry, Storie."

"I know."

There's a pause. He pulls out his phone. "Can I show you something?"

"Ok."

He swipes and shows me the screen. Tears spring to my eyes the second I see the photo of his mom in a hospital bed, cradling a new baby with Daria on her lap and her husband proudly beaming, his arm around her shoulders. Liam smiles.

"She was born five days ago," he says. "I thought you'd like to see."

I take his phone from him, zooming in on the faces in the photo. I miss Daria and Allie so much it hurts, this sodden weight in the pit of my stomach. "Talia?"

"Actually, Mom and Dad agreed on Anna in the end," he says. "Anna Talia Sanders Alexandrov."

"She's perfect." I put his phone down. He slips it back into his pocket.

"She is."

"How's your mom?"

"She's good. She's doing well. She came home from the hospital three days ago and she's already back to business." He pauses when he takes a bit of cake, swallowing before he continues. "When I told her what happened, she was ... she was furious. I've never seen her so mad, or disappointed. She stopped talking to me for a couple of days."

I can't imagine that. Allie's so vivacious and loud, so outgoing and chatty. I can't conjure up the image of her stowing her words away, but I say, "I don't blame her."

"Me neither." His foot nudges mine under the table. "I still love you, Storie. I can't bear being without you. I love you."

"I love you too," I say, but it's not with that jolt of magic like it used to be. It's with a sigh of resignation, like a curse I can't escape. I can't not love him. Not yet. "I can't stop loving you just like that. But I also can't just forget what you did. I can't pretend you didn't destroy me."

He bows his head. His eyes glisten, light dancing over his pupils.

"You're the only guy I've ever loved, Liam. You're the only guy I've ever let my guard down for, and you took my trust and you shattered it. You broke it before I even realized I'd given it to you, and you let me fall for you even when you thought it was still just a game." I shake my head and suck in a shaky breath in an attempt to calm myself. "I can't forget that."

"I love you." His voice is a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." I clasp my hands tightly together, my nails scarring my skin. "But that's not enough. You can love someone and still hurt them." I think back to what Tad says, and I find his words pouring out of me. "You hurt me and I still love you," I say, "but that doesn't mean I owe you my love. It just means I'm going to need time to get over you."

My hands are shaking. I grip my mug and bring it to my lips, almost spilling hot chocolate down my chin. "I gave you a second chance. You broke my heart."

He grips his hands in front of his mouth, his eyes watering. When he dips his head, his hair falls in his eyes. He doesn't push it away for a moment. Not until he looks up at me. "Is there anything I can do, Storie?"

I've asked myself that question a lot. I've prayed for there to be answer, for there to be something he can do to take this weight off my heart, to let me love him without the guilt that comes with it now. But I haven't found the answer. I don't think there is one.

"No," I murmur. "Maybe this could've worked out if we'd met some other time," I say, if only to pacify myself. "Maybe it'll work in the future. Maybe this has just been a lesson we both needed to learn." I shrug and try to hold myself together. I try to drag back that feeling I had on New Year's Day, when I was so sure of myself, surrounded by my family. But they're not here right now. It's just Liam and me, and everything between us.

He sniffs and briskly wipes away a tear the second it falls, blinking to stop the rest from following. "I'm so sorry," he says again. I finish my drink. The sound of the cup on its saucer is deafeningly loud. "I'm so sorry, Storie. I'm so sorry."

"I know." I put my hand in the middle of the table. He takes it, clutching it in both of his. We sit like that for a long few seconds. "I forgive you," I say, slowly pulling my hand away. "But I can't be with you."

It takes everything I have to walk away. My feet don't want to move but I have to go. I have to leave him. If I can walk away now, when I want to wipe the slate clean and sink against him and tell him it's ok, then I can do anything.

I don't look back. I can't bear to turn over my shoulder and see him sitting there opposite an empty seat.

• • •

By the time I make it to the bookstore, I'm frozen through. My coat may protect me from the worst of the cold but it's just about thirty degrees and the rain that started trickling while I was with Liam soon turned to hail that pelted my skin. In the absence of an umbrella, or even a hood, I just had to deal with it.

Gray is chatting away to Navya while she stocks shelves in the back, away from prying eyes that would tell her to get her work done alone and in silence, and they both gasp when I turn up as bedraggled as a drowned cat. My hair is plastered to my cheeks, my coat a burden, laden with rain, and I wouldn't be surprised if my lips are turning blue. I can't even feel them.

"Jesus, Storie!" Gray leaps from his perch on a feature table that Navya has emptied to switch out the books.

"It's raining," I say, my voice shaking.

"No shit!"

I laugh, struggling to unbutton my coat when my fingers are numb despite gloves, and I let him take over with nimble fingers. "I left my umbrella in the car," I mumble, flexing my hands to bring back some feeling. "God, it's cold out there."

Gray takes my coat and thankfully my sweater beneath is mostly dry, and the bookstore always has the heating turned up way higher than necessary. Usually I hate it, when stocking books ends up a sweat-inducing activity, but right now it's more than welcome. I drop into an armchair in the corner, reserved for curious customers who want to peruse their options before they make a purchase, and I let out a sigh that feels like the world is seeping out of my lungs.

"How was it?" Gray comes over to sit on the arm of my chair, his hand on my shoulder and earnest eyes gazing down at me. "How are you?"

"I'm ok," I say. I press my lips into a thin line and re-evaluate. "I will be ok. It was hard." Pushing my hair off my face, tying it into a fat, wet bun, I say, "It really sucked."

Gray rubs my back and bends over me to hug me, and I bury my damp face in his neck. He smells so comforting, a mix of the bookstore and Navya's gentle perfume and the detergent Mom prefers. That smell alone is enough to calm my frayed nerves, to remind me that everything really will be ok. I have Gray and Mom and Tad and Kris.

Navya comes over and sits on the opposite arm, she and Gray like a pair of bodyguards in the exact room where I first met Liam. "Is it over?" she asks, her voice low and soft.

"It's over."

"How did it go? Did he take it ok?"

"Mmhmm. He ... he took it, I guess," I say. "He cried. He kept apologising and he kept asking if there was anything he could do and God, I wish there was, but all I could think was that he lied twice. And I just don't know how easy it would be to carry on after that. I don't think I could really trust him. There'd always be this undercurrent of doubt."

"Guys suck," Navya says, rubbing my cold hand. Gray hums his agreement. "I don't say this enough, Storie, but you're a fucking amazing person. You're so kind and thoughtful and strong. You deserve someone who appreciates that." She holds up her hand and says, "I know he did eventually, but his motivation was disgustingly off base. You, Storie Sovany, are a queen."

• • •

It's dark long before Gray and I get home, carefully driving back under a pitch black sky, but home is lit up like a beacon on the horizon. Smoke is chugging out of the chimney and through the closed curtains of the living room, I can see the glow of a fire in the hearth when I pull up. All day, I've kept Dad's words in my head and one step at a time, I've made it through the day.

The whole way home, Gray has chatted away about anything and everything, keeping my mind from going under, and when we get out of the car, I throw my arms around him. The move takes him by surprise and he laughs as he rights himself, before he returns my attack hug.

"Thank you," I say, my words muffled by his hair.

"I'm not sure what I did, but whatever it was, I'll always do it for you," he says, squeezing me even tighter than I'm squeezing him. "What, by the way, are you thanking me for?"

"For being you."

He laughs. "Well, I can guarantee I'll always be me," he says. "But can I be me inside? It's freaking freezing out here. I think my balls have jumped back inside my body."

An unexpected laugh bursts out of me, and it feels so good. We head inside, huddled together, to find Mom and Tad tucked up together on the sofa like a couple of kids. Mom's legs are draped over Tad's lap, his arms around her, both wearing glasses and contemplative frowns as they ponder a crossword. Mom hears us come in first and she looks up with the kind of smile that could warm any heart. Untangling herself from Tad, she cups my cheeks in her hands.

"You look happy, bogárkám," she says, her thumbs warming my skin. Her hands slip to my shoulders and she pulls me close, and there's no where I'd rather be right now than here in her arms, inhaling the perfume that lingers on everything she wears. As she holds me, one hand slowly rubbing my back, she kisses the top of my head.

"So do you, Mom," I say.

"I am, honey," she murmurs. "I really am."

After the four of us eat together, dragging ourselves from comfort to sit around the table in the kitchen, Mom sinks back into Tad's easy embrace by the fire and Gray and I drag a blanket over our laps on the other sofa. Someday, I want what she has with Tad. I want to be able to curl up with someone I love.

Gray leans against me, yawning into the crook of his elbow, and sighs as he pulls the blanket tighter around both of us, cuddling up against me like a child. He rests his head on my shoulder and buries his cold feet under my leg, and I'm not sure I'm missing out on anything.

When the credits roll and the clock tells us it's way too late to do anything but drag our weary bodies to bed, Mom kisses me goodnight and Gray follows me up to my room. He pokes his head around the door and comes in when I sit down on the edge of my bed.

"Hey, Storie?"

"Mmm?"