Chapter 17: You Never Asked

Darby's POV

Dane found me in the dining hall at noon, in front of half the swim team.

I was at the long table by the window with Bree and a tray of cold pasta.

Luka sat at the next table with his back to the wall, eating a sandwich and watching nobody in particular.

The room was loud, and then the room noticed Dane and went quiet.

He walked straight up to me with his hands at his sides.

His teammates behind him did not chant this time.

"Can I talk to you?" he said.

"You can talk here."

"Alone."

"No."

Bree put down her fork.

"I'll sit next to her," she said. "I'll even look at my pasta."

"Darby, please."

"Here, Dane."

He looked around.

Fifty people looked back.

"Fine," he said, and his voice cracked in the middle of the word. "I came to say sorry."

"For what?"

"For the letter. For the door. For Monday." He rubbed his forehead. "I've been awful to you all week, and I think I know why you hate me."

"I don't hate you."

"You said you didn't like me."

"I don't."

Somebody at the back table coughed to cover a laugh.

Dane swallowed.

"Then tell me what to do. I'll do it. If you're her, Darby, if you're the one, I'll do anything. Tell me what you want."

I looked at him for a while.

I thought about the six years I had lived beside him.

I thought about how many times I had waited at a kitchen table for him to ask me a single question about my day.

"Okay," I said. "Answer this first."

"Anything."

"What's my middle name?"

He opened his mouth.

"What am I studying?"

"Psychology. It's on the screen in the lecture hall."

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