Page 14 of The Secrets We Built Together

"We used to," I corrected. "I barely recognized her yesterday."

"People change," Delaney said, setting the frame down, "but some connections don't."

I snorted. "Some connections get severed with a clean cut and no forwarding address."

Delaney didn't argue. She knew my history, knew the abandonment issues I'd carried to her home—the only place that had ever felt stable.

"You know what I see here?" she asked.

"A pathetic artist who can't get over her childhood traumas long enough to finish anything real?"

Delaney rolled her eyes. "A pattern, Blake. Your whole life, you've been looking for the stability you lost when your parentskicked you out. You're afraid to put down roots because you're convinced they'll be ripped up again."

I stared at her, discomfort rising in my chest. "That's not—"

"It is," she insisted gently. "Why do you think you've moved studios three times in five years? Why you rent instead of buy? Why your longest relationship lasted eight months?"

"Because I'm a free spirited broke artist," I said, the defense sounding hollow even to my ears.

"Because you're afraid," Delaney countered. "And seeing Madison again brought it all back up."

I looked down at the box of memories, the physical remnants of a bond that had shaped and scarred me. "I should have said something to her. Asked her why she never tried to contact me, where she's been all this time." The words caught in my throat. "Asked her if she ever thought about me at all."

"Maybe you'll get another chance," Delaney said.

I shook my head. "She practically ran to her car. I don't think she's coming back."

Delaney's gaze grew thoughtful. "People run when they're scared, Blake. Just like you do whenever it gets too personal."

"I should have done more," I admitted quietly.

"Maybe," Delaney said, standing. "Or maybe you just need to look at this whole situation first. Really look at it. Decide whatyouneed and then go for it."

I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t need one. Delaney wasn’t here to hear my arguments, she was here to support me just like she always was. And, just like every other time, she was frustratingly right. It was time to think about the past and either put it behind, or take what pieces I wanted from it and shape some kind of future with them.

She squeezed my shoulder and headed for the door. "I just came to check on you. We're having dinner at seven if you want to join us."

After she left, I sat in the silence of my room, the closed sketchbook before me, the box of memories open at my side, and the damaged frame in my hands. The late afternoon light caught the edge of the cracked glass, sending a rainbow splintering across the photo.

I set the frame down and pulled the photos out one by one, arranging them in a semicircle on the desk. Our happy moments, our stolen freedoms, our promises to always be there for one another. Where had it all gone? And more importantly, could I ever get any of it back? Did I even want any of it back?

Chapter 6

Blake

Coffee. Sugar. Carbs. Why did the morning exist? Ugh, that moment of dragging myself out of bed was the worst kind of hell. Especially since I'd moved to Willowbrook and apparently started hanging out withmorning people.

Alarm clocks were the devil, and hearing them going off through the thin walls in this house was almost as bad as when Trace and Delaney were doing the dirty.

I really needed to move into my own place. Or at least a bedroom on the other side of the house. Sharing a wall with those two was not something I'd wish on my worst enemy.

As I stumbled down the stairs, the scent of fresh coffee and bacon reached me, and I remembered why I hadn't been able to bring myself to leave this place even though I'd told them I was.

Well, that and my distinct lack of funds.

Trace was the god of the breakfast table, and it was the only redeeming feature of the pre-noon world.

"Morning, Blake!" Delaney sang out from where she was packing a lunch for Cade at the kitchen counter.

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