Liam finally returned.

We usually only met at Christmas. I packed joyfully.

At the door, Caleb looked uncharacteristically somber.

In the car, Liam asked,

"What happened with Lucas? He came to the house, asked Mom and Dad, even tracked me down."

"Just over," I shrugged.

I didn't mention Lucas coming here. Liam would be furious.

"Word is, things aren't great. His family disowned that fiancée."

"She deserved better taste in men," I said.

Liam glanced at me sideways. "You sound different."

"Different how?"

"Less broken."

"I was never broken. I was just bending for someone who didn't notice."

Liam was quiet for a while. Then: "Caleb's been good to you?"

"He's been... Caleb. Aggressively helpful. Terrible cook. Great company."

"He asked about you a lot before you came. Like, a suspicious amount."

"He's your best friend. He was being polite."

Liam snorted. "Caleb Crawford has never been polite a day in his life. The man once told a CEO his tie looked like a fish's last thought."

I laughed—a real, full laugh. It surprised me. I'd forgotten what that felt like.

At the airport, Liam hugged me tight. "Whatever you decide—about Lucas, about Caleb, about anything—I'm on your side."

"Even if I'm wrong?"

"Especially then."

On the flight home, I thought about Caleb's face at the door. That unusual solemnity. Like a man bracing himself for something.

It wasn't until I landed and saw him waiting at arrivals—holding a sign that read "THE SUPERIOR ROOMMATE (RETURN FLIGHT)"—that I understood.

He wasn't somber because I was leaving.

He was somber because he was afraid I wouldn't come back.